Home for the Summer
by ebi pers
Summary: "They had two homes—their mom's and their dad's. But maybe, Zach thought. Maybe it's actually three homes." Zach and Gray spend a week at Claire and Owen's in the summer. Sequel to "Home for the Weekend." Family fluff in spades!
1. Where We Love is Home

**A/N: It's here! Finally! The sequel to Home for the Weekend! I've been hard at work on this one and it took a few tries to get right but I am really looking forward to writing this one so I hope you'll enjoy it too! The setup is similar to Home for the Weekend, except this time the boys are staying with Claire and Owen for a week. It's the end of June and the last few months have been a bit rough so a week away seems to be in order. I hope you love it and please leave a review!**

* * *

"You almost done with that?" Owen looked up to see Claire leaning over the railing of the deck, a smirk on her face. "You've been at it for an hour."

"Half hour," Owen retorted good-naturedly, turning his attention back to the hammock he was trying to set up between two trees in their backyard. For some reason, the ropes just _would not_ cooperate. He gave another hard tug on one of the knots and bit back a curse as it fell apart. "It would be so much easier if these damn hooks would just stay in place," he picked up one of the anchors that had been pulled from the tree trunk for the umpteenth time.

"Don't they teach you a million types of knots in the Navy?" Claire teased.

Owen turned to her. "Yeah but I must've been on leave when they taught us how to tie cheap department store yard furniture knots," he answered sarcastically. "Maybe it'd go faster if you helped me, Red."

"No, no," his girlfriend grinned impishly. "We had a deal. I set up the patio furniture, you handle the yard. Look," she gestured to the table and six deck chairs—all assembled and neatly arranged like a page out of a Home Depot catalog. "My job's finished. Besides," she added, "I'm having much more fun up here."

The man shook his head and failed to cover up his own smile of amusement. "Let's just leave it on the ground," he finally suggested.

"If it's on the ground, it's just a net," Claire pointed out, her voice much closer now. A moment later her arms were encircling his waist. His large hands covered her smaller ones.

"If we dig a hole, put the hammock over it, and then cover it with leaves we could have a booby trap," he offered and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Think it'll be ready by the time the boys get here?" she asked.

"I'll have it up by then even if I have to duct tape the damn thing to two tree trunks," he promised.

"Good," Claire released her grip on him and began sauntering up toward the house again. "They'll be here in an hour. I'll be watching this little production from the window with a cold drink," she winked and then ascended the steps to the deck, disappearing through the slider and into the house. Owen turned his attention back to the hammock and shook his head.

* * *

Claire straightened the throw pillows on the couch in the den, turning them one way, then the other and examining the fabric for any imperfections. Her work was undone a moment later when a shaggy sheepdog leapt up onto the sofa and plopped herself down atop all four cushions. "Blue," the woman chastised the canine mildly. Blue cocked her head to one side, ears perking up at the mention of her name. "Blue, c'mon. Off the couch," the redhead pointed to the ground. The dog followed her finger with her eyes, looked between the ground and the woman's face, and then lazily turned away, remaining where she was. Claire shook her head and gave up, heading for the stairs to check on the boys' rooms one last time.

She passed her open office door at the top of the landing and sighed. The desk was covered in files that still needed sorting through. Some of them should have been faxed to San Diego yesterday. She stepped into the room, examined the paper on top—a form letter offering condolences to the family of yet another victim who had finally succumbed to their injuries months after the fatal events at Jurassic World. She was expected to sign it but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet.

This was supposed to be a happy day and she had already dealt with too much death. This letter and the person it represented brought the official count to 212 people killed due to what happened on Isla Nublar. She had signed too many papers identical to this one, been asked too many questions relating to the casualties, seen too many bodies, and been to too many funerals. Simon Masrani's. Katashi Hamada's. Zara Young's, where she nearly had a breakdown. Gary Spears, Joe Miller, Nathan Lee, Oscar Craig, Reggie Cooper, and countless other park employees and affiliates who were just trying to do their jobs. She had seen too many families cry over their losses—mothers and fathers and siblings and aunts and uncles and husbands and wives and children. It was impossible to not feel some responsibility each time she blinked away tears and watched a casket disappear into a grave marked with one of her coworkers' names. Even now, in the safety of her own home, she could feel that familiar tightness in her throat as she choked back tears. No. She would sign this paper and send condolences to the family. But not now. She tucked the paper into the file folder on top and shut the door on her way out.

* * *

Claire watched from the window, heart rate increasing as her sister's blue Nissan minivan ambled down the long drive, scattering loose pebbles and bits of gravel and finally coming to a halt in front of the three-car garage. A moment later, one of the rear doors slid open and Gray leapt out of the car.

"You okay, Red?" Owen laid a gentle hand on his girlfriend's shoulder. "You're acting like you haven't seen them in months."

Claire sighed. She _felt_ like she hadn't seen them in months. Between flights to San Diego (and New York, and Chicago, and LA, and any other city where Masrani Global had offices being picketed), the amount of paperwork she was being asked to complete, and the number of subpoenas she had to respond to, she hadn't spent more than an hour at a time with her nephews since February. "I just want their week to be nice," she said simply.

"It will be," Owen assured her. "I'm gonna go help with their bags." She hummed an acknowledgement and didn't take her eyes off the window.

Gray's eyes lit up the second he spotted Owen coming towards him. The boy immediately abandoned the suitcase he had been dragging from the trunk of the van. "Uncle Owen!" he called out, launching himself at the man.

Owen stopped short, a smile frozen onto his features. _When did I become_ Uncle _Owen?_ Gray closed the distance and was met with a tight bear hug.

"God, you're getting heavy!" Owen exulted, lifting the eleven-year-old up with ease anyway.

"I grew almost a whole inch," the boy replied. He looked up and noticed Karen beaming, leaning against the side of the car and he shot her a knowing smile.

"I see," the man set Gray down and spotted Zach unloading a duffel bag. "And how many inches did Zach grow? You're a giant."

"Real funny, Uncle Owen," the teen retorted but his smile indicated he was pleased with being noticed. The word _uncle_ still felt foreign to his tongue but he was starting to get used to it. It felt better than calling him _Owen_. He was more than just his aunt's boyfriend by now.

"Aunt Claire's inside," Owen jerked his head in the direction of the house and moved to pick up Zach's duffel. "Why don't you boys go on up?" Gray took off running up the gravel driveway toward the front door without any further bidding. "Go 'head," Owen took the suitcase from the older Mitchell brother and the teen followed his brother's path.

"Thank you," Karen tried to take the duffel bag from him but he pulled it away insistently. "For taking them for the week. They've really missed the two of you."

"We missed 'em too," Owen assured the mother as they began the trek up to the front door.

"It's lovely in the summer," she commented, looking around at the towering trees that were now covered in green leaves, sunlight filtering down and casting soft shadows that swayed with the breeze. "You picked a good spot."

"Claire and the realtor did all the real work," he deflected. "I just help fix up the place."

"It's quiet," Karen noticed. "Plenty of room for the boys to hang out." The man couldn't help but notice a hint of longing in the woman's voice. "I see why they like it here."

"Y'know, you're always welcome too," he told her.

"Thank you," his almost-but-not-quite-sister-in-law smiled wanly. "But I've got work. And the boys could do with some bonding time with their aunt and uncle."

" 'S your call," he shrugged, opening the door for her. "You can come over whenever you want."

Karen stepped over the threshold and was greeted with cool, conditioned air and the excited barking of a dog. Gray's laughter could be heard from somewhere within.

"I missed you, too, Blue," the boy laughed. Owen dropped the bags in the foyer and followed the blonde woman into the great room where the sheepdog was leaping in circles around the younger boy.

"Haven't seen her this excited since we first adopted her," the man stated.

Claire looked up, spotted her sister beside Owen and rushed to greet her in a tight hug. When she pulled back, she examined Karen's face. The woman's cheeks were a little hollower than before—a little paler, too, and she noticed wrinkles forming in places her sister hadn't had wrinkles before but they disappeared under laugh lines when Karen smiled at her again.

"The place looks great!" the older sister enthused, looking around the room. "Love the green on the walls."

"We've done a lot since the last time you came by," Claire answered.

"Well it looks great!" Karen repeated. The dog approached her, sniffed cautiously at her feet, nuzzled her nose under the cuff of one jean leg.

"If you think that's great, you should see the yard," the younger sister pointed toward the deck with a teasing smile. "Or more specifically, Owen's hammock."

" _Your_ hammock. You made me buy it," Owen pointed a good-natured but accusatory finger at her.

"I would, but I should probably get going," Karen looked from her older son to her younger one.

"Oh, stay," Claire pleaded. "At least for coffee. I already made it," she jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen. Her sister looked conflicted for a moment.

"Alright. Just for coffee," she finally relented.

* * *

Claire set two mugs down on the kitchen island and took a glance out the window to where Owen and the boys were taking turns flopping into the wildly-swinging hammock, evidently enjoying her boyfriend's handiwork.

"Is that safe?" Karen asked.

"Probably not," Claire teased but her smile faded when she noticed her sister's frown. "It's fine, Kare. It's a foot off the ground. Bruises are about the only real danger here."

"Right," the woman replied, stirring her coffee. "Sorry."

"So," the younger sister changed the subject, "what are you going to do now that you have the house to yourself for the week?"

"Enjoy the quiet without my two men around," Karen answered. "Wait till you and Owen have kids. You'll learn to appreciate silence."

Claire frowned. In truth, she had thought about kids a _lot_ in recent months. But why did her sister just assume that she would be having any? And why with Owen, who she had only been with for the last six months or so? "So the whole house to yourself, huh? No men at _all_?" she teased, concealing her grin with the rim of her mug.

"No!" Karen insisted adamantly. "Claire, it's too soon. Too soon. I'm still getting used to…well, you know. Besides. I have work. I can't think about that right now."

"Right," Claire answered, suddenly regretting bringing it up. "Well, enjoy the peace and quiet then! They're in good hands here."

"I know," Karen looked meaningfully at her sister. "I know they are." She finished her coffee. "Scott was supposed to have the boys this weekend but I told him they were gonna be here," she said. Claire looked startled. "He said it's fine but don't be surprised if he calls to check in."

"How are the boys taking it?"

"They're fine. As fine as they could be with the whole situation. I guess. I don't know." Her voice sounded a little choked and Claire walked around the island to drape an arm over her big sister. "I mean they go to Scott's every other weekend. He drops by during the week sometimes. He's planning to take them to a Packers game this fall…It seems like everyone's much happier now that we split…But then Gray still has nightmares sometimes and Zach gets flashbacks every so often. They still see a therapist twice a week for god's sake. It's just hard to shake this feeling like I failed them…"

"Don't say that, Kare. You tried. Sometimes…sometimes these things don't work out. And that's okay. It's okay." She felt stupid saying it. Like she somehow didn't have a right to offer her sister counsel when her relationship with Owen continued to flourish.

Karen shook her head. "It just feels like…I don't know, I made the same mistakes Mom made, you know? I thought I was smart enough to see trouble coming."

"Hey, we turned out fine, didn't we?" Claire pointed out. "Give Mom some credit. And give yourself some, too. Zach and Gray love you."

"In truth, sometimes I think they'd be happier if they just lived with you."

Claire winced. It was natural for the boys to talk more about her and Owen than their own parents. Their own parents weren't in the news every week. Their own parents hadn't fought off dinosaurs. It didn't mean they loved their parents any less. She knew that. But she still couldn't shake the guilty feeling that inevitably followed interacting with her nephews in Karen's presence. It didn't change the fact that she felt sad for Karen whenever their eyes lit up upon seeing her or Owen when their eyes never lit up for their own mother. "Don't say that," she said softly. " _Please_ don't say that. They're your sons, Kare. They'll always be yours."

Karen paused, staring into the empty coffee mug for a moment longer, index finger tracing the handle. "You're right," she finally said, looking up. Her eyes were clear. "I didn't mean it that way. I just…feel like you'd do a better job at raising kids than me."

"Why is it always about me having kids?" Claire teased.

"I'll shut up about kids when I have a little niece or nephew to play with," Karen responded playfully, setting her mug down in the sink and running water into it. "I should get going."

"Are you sure you won't stay for dinner?"

"No, no. I shouldn't."

"I promise I'm not cooking," Claire added. "So you probably won't get sick."

Karen laughed but her face was soon serious once more. "Have fun with them this week. They deserve it. You deserve it." She picked up her purse from the side table in the foyer and pulled the door open.

"We won't let them get into too much trouble," Claire promised, giving her sister one last hug. "Get home safe." She watched from the door as her sister backed the minivan out of the driveway and disappeared down the wooded street.

"Who's hungry?" Claire questioned when Zach, Gray, and Owen returned inside.

Zach dropped onto the couch. "Me," he answered immediately.

"Me too," Gray chimed in, plopping down beside his brother.

"You?" Claire raised an eyebrow at Owen.

"D'you even need to ask?" he replied.

Claire playfully swatted his arm with a stack of takeout menus. "Then here. Take your pick."

"Alright, boys, what're we in the mood for," Owen stepped over to the couch. "We got Chinese," he let the menu fall into Gray's lap. "We got pizza." This one fell into Zach's. "Falafels. Tacos." He read each and by the time he was done, there was a pile between the two brothers.

"There's too many to choose," Gray said.

"Alright. So here's what you do. Close your eyes," Owen waited for the boy to shut his eyes. "Reach into the pile and grab the first menu you touch." Zach looked on with a smirk as Gray fumbled with the papers, fingers finally closing around one. "Open 'em. What're we eating?"

"Chinese," he held the menu up like a trophy.

"Problem solved," Owen grinned, gathering up the remaining food options and reaching for the phone.

* * *

"So what's new?" Claire asked, reaching for the carton of lo mein. She was again reminded of how out-of-touch she had fallen with her nephews—that despite seeing them every other week, she hadn't actually _talked_ to them in months. Not meaningfully.

"Zach got a new girlfriend!" Gray blurted and the older brother nudged him in the ribs.

"Shut up," Zach admonished but his voice was devoid of any harshness.

"It's true," Gray shrugged.

"Okay," Claire dragged the word out as she tried and failed to conceal a smirk. "What _else_ is new? You excited for school?"

"Summer _just_ started," Zach pointed out and it was Owen's turn to stifle his amusement.

"I'm starting seventh grade," Gray offered.

"That's awesome, sweetie," Claire's mouth formed the words but all she could think was _my_ _god, he's getting so big._

"Zach," Claire turned to her elder nephew. "Junior year?"

The teen dipped his head slightly, hummed an affirmative.

"Thought about college yet?" his aunt queried.

"Why does everybody keep asking that?" Zach responded, though he was clearly amused.

"I know a guy starting at Wisconsin-Madison," Owen piped up, sending a sly wink at the teenager. "S'posed to be a big deal. Some kinda raptor trainer or something crazy like that." Zach gave a knowing smile but kept quiet, a sure sign to Owen that the kid definitely had _not_ thought about college yet.

There was a lull in the conversation and Claire looked around the table—Zach slurping his noodles, Gray picking out the baby corn, Owen reaching for seconds—and felt compelled to say something. _Anything_. Claire Dearing always knew what to say. Claire Dearing never left white space in a conversation unless she planned it that way. She looked to Owen, who noticed her apparent discomfort. "So what do you guys wanna do tomorrow," he jumped in to save her. "We can hike, we can swim, we can go to the lakes…"

"Can we go windsurfing?" Gray asked. "Mom _never_ lets us go windsurfing!"

Owen and Claire exchanged a glance. "I think that can be arranged," he answered.

 _Add that to the list of things we don't tell Karen_ , Claire thought with a smirk.

* * *

The bedroom was exactly how Zach remembered it from their visit in February. Green like the surrounding trees. The bed was spread in a forest-colored comforter and turned down so that the cream-colored bedsheets were also visible. His bare feet sank into the plush, burgundy rug that spanned both sides of the queen-sized bed as he toweled off his wet hair, cinched the waist of his plaid lounge pants, and began rummaging in his suitcase for a t-shirt. His hands finally closed around a navy blue one and he pulled it over his head. That accomplished, he dragged the open suitcase to one corner and hung the towel up behind the door.

It was quiet. He could hear crickets and the occasional bullfrog out in the woods and when he pulled the curtains back to look outside, he was greeted with almost pitch blackness. Outside the room, he heard Gray padding down the hall from the bathroom, the bedroom door next to his shutting a moment later. Gray had slept in his own room for as long as Zach could remember—since the boy grew out of infancy. But in the months after Isla Nublar, Zach's room had more or less become Gray's room. Or vice versa. Inevitably, the boy would need comfort (or the teen would prefer to have his younger brother around, though he was always too proud to admit it outright). And while things had settled down since their dad moved out and time had begun its work in healing the two, Zach always felt an uneasiness in their own home, the feeling that he might have to go running down the hall to his brother's room at any minute. The nightmares were fewer and further between now, but the threat of them still loomed large for both Mitchells.

Claire and Owen— _Uncle_ Owen's—was different, though. There was no underlying uneasiness creeping into the back of his mind the way it did at home. There was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that happened right before their parents got into a really bad fight, or the tense silence that followed. Not the kind of quiet the signaled something terrible was on the horizon. Just peace. A silence thick and heavy but comfortable at the same time. The teen let out a breath slowly, looked around the room at the green walls, curled his toes against the glossy wood floor, paced the room once, twice, three times. A bullfrog croaked. Gray shuffled around in the room next door. Downstairs, he heard Aunt Claire's ringing laugh at something Uncle Owen said. Zach bit back a smile of his own and finally flopped down on the bed, releasing a sigh of content as he let his feet dangle over the edge of the mattress and intently studied the fibers of the rug, fiddling with the corner to reveal the whoops and whorls of the woodgrain underneath.

His smile broadened. He had two homes—his mom's and his dad's. His mother's, while familiar, had become dreary as of late. He hadn't noticed during the school year but without their father, the large, two-story home, painted in yellow and trimmed in white, felt empty and cold. Too much house for just three people. And his father had the opposite problem—a townhouse barely big enough for three people, still cramped and cluttered with moving boxes even now, almost six months after the divorce was finalized and he had left the old house for good. _But maybe_ , Zach thought. _Maybe it's actually three homes_.

A faint knock at the door. Gray poked his head in a moment later, his mop of hair still slicked down from the shower. "Zach?"

"What's up?" the teen picked himself up into a sitting position and faced his younger brother.

"Nothing," the boy shrugged. "I thought you were sleeping. It's quiet."

"Sure is," Zach drawled, reclining against the pillow with his hands resting behind his head. Gray hesitated, lingered in the doorway a bit longer. "You gonna be okay by yourself?" Zach asked.

"Yeah," the boy brightened after a moment. "We're going _windsurfing_ tomorrow. Bet you'll wipe out more than me!" Gray challenged.

"You're on, dude," Zach broke out in an even wider grin. Gray returned the smile brightly and then left. Only the crickets were making noise now, aside from the occasional creak of the settling house. Just crickets and windsurfing and summer and _home_.

* * *

It was well past midnight when Owen and Claire finally came upstairs, the dog trailing loyally behind them. They paused in front of each boy's room. Zach's door was shut but light still escaped from the crack under the door, indicating the teen was either up or had fallen asleep before he could turn it off. Gray's room was quiet and the light was out. Claire smiled to her boyfriend as they moved on, finally sweeping into their own bedroom. The dog bounded past and settled in her own bed at the foot of Claire and Owen's.

"We got kids. Boys, too," Owen said, flopping down onto the bed as Claire removed her earrings and washed her face. She paused, frowning into the bathroom mirror, makeup wipe still pressed to her cheek.

"Why did you say it like that?" she questioned, poking her head out of the bathroom door and finding her boyfriend leaning against the headboard, two pillows propped behind him. He looked perplexed.

"Say what like what?" he asked.

Claire shook her head. "Never mind," she said, ducking back into the bathroom.

"What is it, Red?" Owen materialized in the doorway, resting his hands on either side of the frame. She avoided eye contact, dipping her head low over the sink and running cool water over her face. When she emerged, he was still standing there, eyeing her in the mirror. "What's wrong?"

Claire sighed. "It's dumb."

Owen's hands found purchase on either of her slender shoulders and he began to rub and kneed. "When've I ever thought anything you said was dumb?"

"Just…I don't know. Everybody's always talking about kids. My mom won't stop asking. Karen said something about kids earlier. Now you, too."

"Jesus, it hasn't been that long," Owen murmured, shaking his head. "I didn't mean it like that," he said louder, more directly to his girlfriend. "I was just kidding around. We're not ready to be parents…are we?"

"No!" Claire insisted, but she had relaxed significantly in Owen's arms. "No. Not yet."

"Maybe one day," Owen kissed the top of her head.

"One day," she agreed. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that _one day_ was a very real, albeit long-term possibility.

"Let's focus on our kids for the week, first," Owen suggested.

"Windsurfing," Claire said with a conspiratorial smirk, sauntering through the bathroom door. Owen followed her out. "Karen's gonna kill me," she unbuttoned her blouse, left it in a pile on the floor and slipped into the night shirt that had been folded on the edge of the bed.

"Karen doesn't have to know," her boyfriend suggested.

"Great minds think alike, Mr. Grady," she answered, undoing her belt and exchanging her jeans for a pair of shorts. Owen flopped down onto the mattress and she climbed in beside him a moment later.

"We have kids for the week," Claire suddenly repeated his words from earlier. It struck her all of a sudden. This would be the longest period of time she'd ever had custody over her nephews—or anyone's kids for that matter—ever. Owen wore an enigmatic grin as he observed her. "What're we gonna do this week?" she asked. There was the Claire he knew and loved. Scheduling Claire. Itinerary-making Claire. The Claire that worried about all the little details. She had been so laidback initially and he had been wondering how long it would take for this side of her to surface. "Wait, they're here for the Fourth of July!" she realized. "What're we gonna do for that? Should we do a barbecue? Plan a party? Invite people?"

"Or," Owen interrupted her, as he was wont to do whenever she began to get worked up over under-planning, "we can take it one day at a time." He gripped her waist gently and rolled her onto her side so that she was nuzzling into him. She let out a puff of warm breath against his chest.

"Okay," she said. "One day at a time."

* * *

 **A/N: So I'm building a bit of a larger plot (and perhaps a little tension—not bad tension but just tension) into this one. And expanding on some characters and the aspects of their lives we haven't seen before. It's been fun for me to try to evolve each character's psyche a little more now that there's a half a year between them and Jurassic World. Please let me know if my characterizations were realistic, what needs work, etc. because this story also evolves based on the feedback I get. I'm so excited to share the rest of this with you! Thanks for reading so far and I'll update ASAP.**


	2. Disruptive Force

**A/N: Chapter 2! Whoooo! I'm so excited to continue this story and I'm overall pretty happy with how this chapter came out and the direction I'm headed in. Tension is ramping up this chapter but not for the reasons you think… Let me know what you thought in a review, pretty please? Thanks for all the comments so far—they've all been very helpful! And of course, thank you for reading, favoriting, following, and any other –ing you might have done in relation to this story! Onward to chapter 2!**

* * *

It was the phone ringing that startled Owen awake at 8:37 AM and he instinctively reached for his nightstand, expecting to get a call about the raptors being uncooperative or a problem with the enclosure that he _had_ to address as head trainer. It wasn't until he realized he was grasping at air—that the only things populating his nightstand now were a tissue box and an alarm clock—that he remembered where he was. But the phone was still ringing and he rolled over, saw the glow of Claire's smartphone screen. She stirred, drawing in a deep breath.

"Claire," he whispered close to her ear, his warm hand gently shaking her shoulder. She sat up immediately, blue-green eyes alert and searching. He could see her mind snap into focus in an instant and she rolled away from him, grasping for the device before the call went to voicemail.

"Claire Dearing," her voice was crisp. Professional. Way too put-together for someone who just woke up. She paused, listened to the voice on the other end. Owen searched her face for any indication of who it was, of whether this was a good call or a bad call. _Don't be stupid, Grady. Good calls don't come before 9 AM._

"Yes. I understand." Claire sounded cold, removed. It was the voice she put on whenever she couldn't express her displeasure openly. "Rich, give me one moment, please." Owen's face clouded with concern and she shook her head tiredly at him as she threw back the thin bedsheet, straightened out the oversized nightshirt so that it nearly obscured her shorts, and walked briskly toward the door. A second later, he found himself alone in their bedroom, a warm space and a Claire-sized indentation beside him.

Owen sat up slowly, stretched his arms and planted his feet on the ground. Sunlight filtered lazily into the room through the gauzy, semi-opaque curtains. The dog rolled over in her bed, blinked twice at him, then lost interest and rolled back, returning to her slumber. Owen stretched the bedsheet taut and smoothed the wrinkles out, then drew up the comforter that had slipped to the ground in a heap sometime during the night. He pulled on a t-shirt and followed his girlfriend's path out of the room.

The hallway was bathed in the glow of the early-morning sun, the light pouring in unobstructed through the massive great room windows. Their office door was shut and he could hear Claire's voice—muffled but tense—from within. Gray's door was cracked open and he peered inside. The sheets were thrown back and the boy wasn't there. _Must've gone downstairs already._ He didn't bother checking Zach's room—he knew his oldest nephew well enough by now to know that nothing short of the apocalypse could rouse him before 10 AM.

"You don't understand, Rich. That's not possible for me. That doesn't work! Our agreement—" He could picture Claire's face—eyes screwed shut in exasperation, her free hand clenched into a tight fist and then pinching the bridge of her nose, her mouth set grimly. Owen briefly considered opening the door. Just to check on her. But he knew she would wave him away with a promise to explain later. So he didn't bother.

Coming down the stairs, he was surprised to see both Gray _and_ Zach out on the deck. The younger brother was leaning over the railing, observing something on the ground below while the older brother glanced at his phone, then up into the tree tops, then back to the phone. Owen pulled back the patio slider and stepped outside to join them, bare feet slapping against the wooden planks of the deck.

"It's amazing out here," Zach was saying. Gray offered a smile and the teen turned to face Owen as he approached. "I gotta go. My uncle's here. I'll text you later." The man caught a glimpse of a strawberry blonde girl on the other end of the Facetime chat as she waved good bye. A smile lingered on the teenager's face for a moment after hanging up.

"Mornin', boys," Owen clapped a hand on each brother's shoulder.

"Morning, Uncle Owen," Zach replied, still distractedly staring at his phone.

"We're going windsurfing today, right?" Gray questioned eagerly.

Owen chuckled. "Course we are. But I think we need some breakfast first, what do ya say?"

The boy nodded in agreement. "Where's Aunt Claire?"

"Uh," Owen faltered, "she had a call…sounded important but I'm sure she'll be done soon. Then we can eat and we'll all go down to the lake."

"Have you ever been windsurfing?" Zach asked, slipping his phone back in his pocket and staring at a point somewhere in the treetops.

"Nope," the man answered resolutely. "This's gonna be my first time."

"Kind of a Wisconsin thing, I guess," the teen said. "You probably did way cooler stuff before you lived here."

 _Not really kid. Doesn't get much better than Claire_ , he thought. "Nah," he said aloud. "I mean besides what I did in Costa Rica. And sometimes in the Navy."

"Where'd you live before, Uncle Owen?" Gray piped up. "Like before you went to work at Jurassic World."

It occurred to Owen that the boys—his nephews, his _family_ —knew almost nothing about him other than the fact that he trained raptors and had once served in the Navy. "Grew up in Monroe, Georgia," he said. "When I joined the Navy I got stationed in Jacksonville." There really wasn't much else to tell. They knew the rest.

"What did you do in the Navy?" the younger boy pressed. "Did you go on an aircraft carrier? Were you in a submarine?"

"Gray," Zach said warningly, casting a concerned glance at his uncle. "Easy with the questions."

"Nah, it's fine," Owen answered easily. "Didn't get to do anything cool like that. Flew a helicopter once. But mostly I trained dolphins."

"Trained them to do what?" Gray asked.

"Find underwater mines mostly," he replied. "But they could also warn us 'bout any incoming submarines or underwater spy devices. Program got shut down after a couple years and that's when I got hired to work with the raptors." Owen picked up a twig that had fallen off one of the trees and began twirling it around between his thumb and forefinger. "Rest is history."

The three turned around at the sound of the slider opening and spotted Claire coming out to join them. "Just in time," Owen grinned. "Ready to grab some breakfast? Then we can—" His voice dropped off when he realized Claire wasn't returning his smile.

"I have to talk to you," she said. Her voice was serious and she forced a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Owen detected the shift in Zach and Gray's body language. They were stiff, alert. Claire jerked her head in the direction of the house, her wavy red locks bouncing slightly.

"Be right back," Owen assured the brothers as he followed his girlfriend inside.

"That was work," Claire told him in a hushed voice once they were in the great room. She cast a sideways glance out the slider and saw Zach intently scrutinizing his phone while Gray nudged a pebble back and forth with his foot.

"Figured," Owen replied, a slight frown forming. "Thought you were off this week."

"I was supposed to be," she answered. "But that was Rich—the COO of Masrani Global." Her boyfriend nodded. He'd heard the name before. "He's gonna call back in an hour or so. We have some things to work out…" There was a long pause and she heaved a sigh before saying the next part. "Can you take the boys today?"

"Just me?" Owen clarified, though he already knew what she meant.

"Yes," she nodded and with the way her face tweaked slightly, he was afraid she might start crying any minute. "I need you to take them windsurfing. Let them have fun. I'll have everything figured out by tonight."

"What's going on?"

"Nothing's concrete yet," she prefaced, shaking her head. "But there's a chance they want to relocate me to San Diego. I'm gonna figure it out but…I don't want to ruin their day."

Owen did his best not to react, following her gaze out the window once again. The boys were looking in at them now, concern etched into their features. "You know they're gonna be disappointed," he told her without breaking eye contact. He immediately regretted it when he saw her shoulders drop out of the corner of his eye.

"I know," she sighed. "I know they are. I wanted to spend the week with them, Owen. You _know_ that."

"Don't worry about it," he soothed, hand finding purchase on her shoulder. He gripped her reassuringly. "I'll take 'em down to Lake Mendota. They'll have a good time and we can catch up at dinner, okay?"

"Thank you," Claire said, relief flooding her voice. She pressed against his side. He pressed a kiss to her cheek but when he pulled away, he noticed she was biting her lower lip apprehensively.

"Boys," Claire said gently once they were gathered around the kitchen island. She tried to sound as positive as possible but between the way she chewed her bottom lip and the slight tremor in her voice, it was obvious to everyone that bad news was on the way. "Owen is going to take you guys windsurfing today."

"What about you?" Gray asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Sweetie," she said softly, "I _really_ wish I could come. You know I do. And I was planning to but…something's come up. And I have to take care of it. But if it all works out, we'll have the rest of this week together, I promise. Okay?"

The boy's face fell and Zach spoke up. "We understand," he said but he sounded unconvincing even to his own ears.

"Yeah, we understand," Gray concurred, eyes planted to the floor. "Things come up."

Claire let out a strained sigh and turned to Owen. "C'mon, guys, let's eat," he tried to sound cheerful. "Gotta get our strength up if we're gonna windsurf. There's a pancake house we can hit on the way."

"Yeah, okay," Zach finally agreed, moving quickly past the couple to get dressed. Gray followed behind him.

"That could've gone better," Claire sighed in defeat once the boys had gone upstairs.

"You're doin' your best," Owen tried to reassure her. "They're disappointed now but give 'em a day of windsurfing and I promise they'll be feeling better 'bout it by tonight."

"I hope so," she replied. "I really hope so."

"You'll see," Owen kissed the top of her head. "We'll come pick you up after. Go to that barbecue place you like." She smiled genuinely this time.

* * *

Claire clasped her head in her hands and stared at the words on her laptop screen until they blurred together. The sound of the engine starting distracted her and she stared wistfully out of the office window until the Mercedes SUV was backed fully out of view, carrying Owen and her nephews off to Lake Mendota while she was left to figure out how she could convince Masrani Global not to relocate her. Because she couldn't move to San Diego. She couldn't sell this beautiful house that she and Owen had just bought—that had just started feeling like home. She couldn't ask her boyfriend to give up his job at Wisconsin-Madison before he had even really started there. And most of all, she couldn't bear to part with her family now that she was just getting close to them again.

The sound of the phone ringing startled her and for a moment, she dreaded looking at the screen. Unable to fight her instincts any longer, she snatched the vibrating device off her desk and looked. To her surprise, it wasn't a Masrani Global number or Rich's business phone number that popped up. It was the name SCOTT MITCHELL, accompanied by an old Facebook profile picture of the man who used to be her brother-in-law, imported to her contacts list when she had first set her phone up. She paused, debating whether or not to answer it. She hadn't spoken to him in months. But Karen had warned her he might call.

"Hello," she tried to sound as warm as possible.

"Uh, hi Claire," Scott began and Claire involuntarily tensed at the awkwardness in his voice. "Um…how are you?"

"I'm…good," she answered haltingly. "Very good. You?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he replied almost too quickly. "Is…the house coming along?"

"Yeah!" she said brightly. "It's coming along great, actually. New paint and all. It looks nice…" There was an awkward silence. "What about yours?" she finally asked.

"Oh! Um, making progress. You know how it is…unpacking and all. Takes forever."

"Uh-huh," Claire thumbed through some papers, not processing anything inscribed on them.

"So…the boys around?" Scott finally asked.

"Actually, no," Claire answered ruefully. "Owen took them down to Lake Mendota for the day. I had…I had a few things to take care of." She screwed her eyes shut and let out a slow hiss of breath through her nostrils.

"Oh." The disappointment in her ex-brother-in-law's voice was almost palpable. Claire felt bad for him. Karen was always insistent that he had never been a bad _person_ —just a busy one. Too busy to really be a husband or a father. _Just like I was too busy to really be an aunt or a sister_. And from everything her sister said, it was obvious now that he was trying to atone for it. Like she was. Although she might be robbed of that chance soon enough if Masrani had its way.

"I'm not sure when they'll be back," she finally said. "But hey, Scott. If you're free sometime this week, why don't you come over? We did kind of steal your weekend from you after all…"

"No, no—the boys are always happy to see you and Owen. Figured it'd be good for them."

"But still," Claire couldn't believe she was saying this—a few months ago she hated the man on principle, "you should come by. Maybe have dinner or something. I'm sure they'd love to see you."

"I wouldn't want to impose…" Scott hesitated.

"Just a couple hours. It's not imposing." _What am I doing?_

"Well, alright then. I'll drop by tomorrow evening for a bit after work. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, tomorrow evening sounds great," Claire answered cheerfully. She let out another puff of breath after hanging up and decided she needed a second cup of coffee.

* * *

The Union was bustling with people—typical on any beautiful day. College kids milled about in between summer classes, young families picnicked on the grassy quads, and groups of elderly people in running shoes and shorts were seated in the colorful chairs on the terrace. There were sailboats visible out on the lake, interspersed with groups of windsurfers. The sails on their boards were striking against the pale blueness of the sky.

Owen, clad in his orange board shorts and a black rash guard, spotted the surf shop along the pier. "A'right, I'm gonna go rent out the boards and gear. You wanna wait here?" he turned to his nephews. Zach nodded for the both of them and the man went off.

"I wish Aunt Claire was here," Gray told his brother glumly once Owen was out of earshot.

"Me too," Zach replied, staring in between the gaps in the wooden planks on the wharf. "But you heard her," he tried to be optimistic. "She just has to take care of a couple things today and then she'll be with us for the rest of the week." Somehow, even he didn't believe his own words.

"But what if something comes up tomorrow, too? And then on Wednesday? And Thursday? And then it's just us and Uncle Owen and she won't be around. Just like—" he ended his sentence abruptly, unsure of what to say.

"Just like what?" his older brother questioned.

"I don't know," the boy deflected.

"No, you do," Zach insisted and Gray wasn't sure if he was agitated about the whole thing or just annoyed at him personally. "Just say it."

"Like how she was at Jurassic World," the younger brother peeped. "And like how Dad was before the divorce."

"She's not gonna do that to us, Gray!" Zach was forceful, insistent. "She wouldn't do that to us again and you know it. Something came up but she's gonna take care of it and then she's gonna spend the whole rest of the week with us. _Okay_?"

The pointedness of the question didn't leave much room for challenge, so the eleven-year-old just nodded.

"It's not gonna go back to how it was before," the teen muttered, just loud enough for his little brother to hear. They could see Owen pulling his wallet out of his back pocket in the distance. "We're a family," he continued. "We stick together."

* * *

When Owen returned to the boys, the tense expressions on their faces told him all he needed to know about what they were discussing while he was gone. He had his work cut out for him. The boys had every right to be upset—he knew that. He was worried himself. Claire had spent two whole weeks arranging and rearranging their rooms, rearranging teleconferences and postponing things so she could have this week clear. For once, his girlfriend had let work take a backseat and the fact that she wasn't here spoke to how truly bad this whole situation was.

 _Damn Masrani Global._ The company had provided well for them and he knew he should be grateful. But Claire had worked out a deal with them. They _needed_ her to clean up the mess Jurassic World caused. And she was pretty damn good at cleaning up messes. She had leveraged that to stay in Madison. It didn't sit well with him that they were trying to renege on that deal now. Especially if they made Claire feel like she didn't have a choice.

"K, boys, who's ready to go windsurfing?" he asked cheerily, clapping his hands together.

"Me!" Gray's face lit up and Zach smiled genuinely for what seemed like the first time that morning. He handed them the rental tickets.

"We gotta head over to the wharf to get our boards. There's an instructor who's gonna meet us there."

Windsurfing was a lot harder than it looked, as it turned out. And while Zach liked to approach things like he knew what he was doing, even he had to admit it was difficult to get his footing and he wiped out the first few times, much to Gray's amusement.

"Told you you'd wipe out more than me!" the younger brother taunted as Zach righted himself on the board for the fifth time.

The older brother wiped water from his eyes and laughed. "Day's still early, bro. You have plenty of time to mess up."

And Gray did mess up but the two brothers were too busy having laughing at each other and themselves to keep count so that by early evening when the boards were due back in, they agreed to call it a draw. Much to Owen's relief, they seemed to be in much better spirits as they retrieved their belongings from the locker, toweled off their hair, and put on their t-shirts. In the midsummer heat, their swim trunks were almost completely dry within a half hour.

"Did you have fun?" Owen questioned, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"We _have_ to do that again!" Gray declared, his face lighting up.

"We got plenty of time," the man ruffled his hair but a thought struck him. If Masrani transferred Claire to San Diego, he was making a promise he couldn't keep.

"I'm hungry," Zach announced, stretching out his arms after clinging to the board all day. It occurred to him that they hadn't eaten since breakfast. He hadn't even been aware of his hunger until now and it was already past five PM. The sun was starting to paint everything gold along the terrace and the crowd that had died down around mid-afternoon was back. A group of students were sitting around a table, strumming guitars. Further down, the sounds of live jazz floated through the air and a group of birds fought over a spilled carton of French fries.

"Let's go get your aunt and we'll go get dinner," Owen suggested, rummaging in the bag for the car keys.

* * *

Claire looked up from her laptop with a start when she heard Owen's black SUV rumbling down the drive. He stopped just short of the garage and left the vehicle outside, an emphatic _beep_ resonating and confirming the G-Class was locked. She stood, stretched out her back and her legs, realizing she had been sitting at her desk for hours. The front door opened and shut.

"Honey, we're home," Owen called in an exaggeratedly booming voice that made her smile to herself as she emerged from the office, straightening out the wrinkled hem of her peach-colored blouse.

"Everyone in one piece?" she asked, appearing on the landing and taking in the sight of her boyfriend and nephews.

"Ten fingers, ten toes. All accounted for," Owen confirmed and she met him at the bottom of the stairs. He kissed her cheek. "How'd it go?" he whispered, just low enough that the boys couldn't hear.

"We'll talk," she answered tersely. He nodded grimly. She knew it wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. "How was windsurfing?" she turned to Zach and Gray, the warmth returning to her voice as she regarded them. Gray's hair was still matted down—wavier than normal thanks to the lake water—and Zach's hair flopped just above his brow. They looked tanner than when they left. "Did you have fun?"

"It was great, Aunt Claire," Gray answered, wrapping his arms around her waist. "We missed you."

She hugged him back and felt herself almost break. "I wish I could've been. But you've got me for the rest of the week," she promised.

"So…dinner," Owen piped.

Claire released her younger nephew and brightened. "Ready when you are."

* * *

The barbecue joint was decorated with faux-wood tables, red-checkered tablecloths, and pieces of sports and hunting memorabilia all over the walls that gave the place an almost claustrophobic feel. The food was good, there was no denying that. But Owen always joked he could do better at home. Not tonight, though. Claire deserved to enjoy her dinner without the usual side of sarcasm. There was a plastic raptor head mounted like a hunting trophy on one of the walls. He eyed it nervously for a moment but none of his family seemed to notice the grotesque piece of décor so he moved on.

"This's your aunt's favorite restaurant," Owen told the boys once they'd been seated. "Makes me take her here all the time."

"What can I say? I'm a cheap date," she shot back without glancing up from her menu. She eyed the rib platter for a bit, then the half-chicken, then the brisket sandwich, feeling compelled to order all of it. _I was doing so well with my diet, too_. She finally settled on a rack of ribs and resigned herself to getting messy.

The waitress took their order and when the menus were collected, Claire sat back and unfolded her paper napkin, taking out the knife and fork and shuffling them around absent-mindedly. "So, tell me about windsurfing," she requested.

"It was awesome!" Gray said. "Zach wiped out more than me."

"Dude, we called it even," the older brother protested. "Besides, _you_ wiped out more than me," he taunted.

"Nuh-uh."

Claire's face tweaked momentarily—a slight change in expression that looked almost pained. Only Owen noticed and he could guess what the result of the conversation with Rich had been. But he didn't want to say anything—didn't even want to really think about it. Because thinking about it made it all the more possible and as long as she hadn't said anything, there was a glimmer of hope that everything would be fine. That Rich had changed his mind. Past-Owen wouldn't have bothered hoping. Past-Owen was too pragmatic to waste time on such a longshot. But past-Owen also didn't have anything to really hope _for_. Past-Owen didn't have a family to consider besides his raptors. He didn't realize he had really zoned out until the food arrived and he realized Zach was talking.

"—so yeah," the teen finished his story. "We walked around the terrace a little afterwards and then we came home to pick you up." It was subtle. It was so subtle but Owen caught the way Claire froze for a second when Zach said _home_.

The rest of dinner passed quickly. Owen couldn't recall much of the conversation—Gray mentioned something about trying to convince their mom to get them a dog, Zach mentioned he'd gotten in a car accident with a deer that dented his front bumper, both brothers talked about hiking tomorrow and Gray wanted to sleep in the backyard sometime this week. Claire nodded, smiled, said "uh-huh" and occasionally threw in a question but she was clearly distracted. They paid the check and left the restaurant at a quarter past nine.

* * *

The boys stayed up until past midnight watching movies on the big-screen TV in the great room. Owen gloated to his girlfriend when they made a comment about the size, the picture quality. "Why do we need a TV that big, babe?" his voice was a few octaves higher in an attempt to poke fun at her and normally she would have fired right back at him in good fun. But this time, she was chewing at her bottom lip and frowning, not paying attention. He drew her close. "Let's go to bed," he murmured into her ear. She nodded silently.

"A'right, guys. We're gonna go upstairs and get to sleep. Don't stay up too late," he admonished.

"We won't, Uncle Owen," Gray promised.

Owen led Claire up the stairs and to their bedroom. He didn't even have a chance to ask before she sank down on the bed. "They still want to move me," she squeaked, her voice dangerously close to breaking. He dropped onto the mattress beside her and pulled her close to him. She nestled into the crook of his neck.

"Rich said if I can figure out a compromise, he's happy to talk but I'm scared, Owen." And she sounded pretty damn terrified, which was entirely new for him. This was not the Claire Dearing he knew and he felt more ill-equipped than he had in his life. What could he say? "What if I can't think of something? What if they force me to move out to the West Coast?" She was blinking rapidly, arms gesturing and then falling uselessly to her side. "I mean, that was all fine _before_ but…but this is home. My family is here. _Our_ family, right? I can't just leave…"

"Screw 'em." It was his knee-jerk reaction and he didn't see Claire's reaction but he knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth. "I mean, you do all the work for them right? You handle the press for them. They _need_ you, babe." Her silence made it clear she didn't feel any better so he didn't bother trying to convince her to quit. She wouldn't. They'd had that talk. "If you have to go out to San Diego, I'm gonna be right next to you," he said instead.

She turned in his arms and faced him, her blue-green eyes shining and searching. She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I love you," she whispered.

"And I love you. More than anything in the world."

"I'm going to figure something out," she swore. _I will not abandon my family again._

* * *

 **A/N: And chapter two is complete! I hope you see what I meant now about tension… Will Claire think of a compromise? And what will Zach and Gray say if/when they find out Masrani is trying to relocate her? But more importantly, who can't wait for a hiking chapter? I can't! Please drop a review and tell me what you thought—what worked, what didn't, etc. Much like the dinosaurs, my stories evolve as readers give me ideas and input. I can't wait to hear what you think!**


	3. An Inevitability

**A/N: Chapter three! Woohoo! Thanks, as always, for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and supporting this story. My days have been** _ **swamped**_ **lately so I can't always write as much as I'd like to, but your encouragement always keeps me going. So thank you so much! This is going to be a short series, much like Home for the Weekend was, so I don't anticipate more than a couple more chapters. I hope you like it so far and please tell me what you think!**

* * *

The nightmares were vague by now and Zach couldn't recall much more than sensations and feelings when he woke. He was only somewhat aware of the bad dreams. They all blended into a murky, gray haze that hung just out of reach as he slept and they no longer roused him from his slumber, causing him to sit up, panicking and drenched in sweat and trying desperately to catch his breath. Colors. Sounds. That's all he remembered in the morning.

Maybe that's why he knew something was wrong. It was too _vivid_. He felt like he was falling momentarily as the bed dipped and a distinct, creeping sensation as little pinpricks worked their way up his exposed arm. This was _too_ real to be a dream. The teen's eyes snapped open and his heart skipped a beat when he came face-to-face with his brother's blue eyes and mischievous, gap-toothed grin.

"Aah!" Zach exclaimed, involuntarily jerking backwards. Gray burst out laughing and the older brother frowned, looking past the boy and spotting Claire desperately trying to conceal her own mischievous smirk behind her hand. "Not funny," he groused, sitting up indignantly and shoving his brother's shoulder lightly.

"Aunt Claire put me up to it," the younger brother insisted.

Claire's hands fell to her hips as her nephew threw her under the bus. "Gray!" she cried, but made no effort to deny it.

Zach rolled his eyes, threw the covers over himself, and rolled onto his side, mumbling something incoherent into his pillow.

"Well since you're up," Claire sauntered slowly into the room, sly smirk returning as Gray prodded at his brother's side. "Gray and I were talking and decided we should go hiking today. What do you think?"

"I think it's too early to be up," the teenager replied.

"Oh, c'mon," Gray pleaded. "It'll be fun. Please?"

Zach opened one eye, took in his younger brother's puppy-dog eyes and let out a sigh. "Fine," he agreed. "But would you get off me?"

"Yes!" the boy pumped his fists in victory and slid off the mattress. The older Mitchell sat up and rubbed his eyes tiredly, double-checking the clock on the nightstand that read 9:12 in glaring, red digital numbers.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Gray urged. "Get up!"

Zach yawned and made a big show of stretching his arms, then rolling his neck and shoulders, and by the time he was stretching out his legs, Gray had figured out the game he was playing and latched onto his older brother's bicep. "Get! Up!" he tugged.

"Okay, I'm up!" Zach huffed, a smile tugging at his lips as he rolled out of the mattress at the pace of molasses and his brother looked ready to burst.

* * *

"So hiking," Owen dropped a plate heaped with bacon on the dining table and watched as his nephews ripped into it before he could even sit down. "Lucky for you we live in the middle of the woods. Lots of trails around here. I know a great little hiking trail about ten minutes from here. Hardly anybody ever goes there but it's beautiful."

"I'm game," Zach replied.

"Are there animals?" Gray questioned.

" 'S the woods, buddy. Course there's animals. Might not see that many but they're there."

"But what _kind_?"

Owen smiled. "Guess we'll have to wait 'n see."

Claire picked up a piece of bacon and ripped pieces off for herself. "I spoke to your dad yesterday," she quietly changed the subject. Both Zach and Gray perked up and even Owen seemed a little surprised by this information. "I forgot to mention it yesterday." Her plate had suddenly become very interesting and her eyes didn't leave the porcelain, intently studying the drops of maple syrup that hadn't quite made it onto her waffle. "He wanted to talk to you but you were both out so…I asked if he'd like to come here this evening. Just to visit for a bit." She picked her eyes up for the first time and found Owen's face first. The table was suddenly very quiet. "I hope that's alright," she said, nibbling on another small piece of bacon.

"Yeah," Owen recovered quickly. "Of course it's alright. I don't think Scott's ever even seen the house before." She relaxed minutely, searching her nephews' faces for any indication of dissent.

Gray just shrugged. "Cool," he answered, sweeping his fork up once more.

"I mean if you're cool having him here then we're cool with him being here," Zach replied.

Claire let out an audible breath of relief and shuffled some food around her plate. "Good." She brightened. "So we'll go hiking, come back, your dad's coming tonight…"

"And you're coming with us," there was a hint of questioning at the end of Gray's sentence.

"Yes, of course I'm coming. I wouldn't miss it for the world." Claire smiled but there was a grimace hidden somewhere beneath it.

* * *

"So when are you gonna tell the boys? That you might get relocated, I mean." Owen was tugging on his jeans and buckling his belt while Claire searched through her closet for something to wear hiking. She settled on a green, short-sleeved button-down and shrugged into it, emerging from the walk-in with a pair of black jeans draped over one arm.

"If they decide to relocate me, I'll tell them," she said adamantly. "But I don't want them to be worried. There's no reason for them to worry yet."

"They're gonna find out if you have to miss another day. You know that, right? They already know something isn't right."

"I'm not going to miss another day with them," Claire promised. "My phone's been off all morning. I won't look at it until we get back from the trails today." She removed her shorts and pulled the jeans over her legs.

"You think of a compromise yet? If they decide to move you?" Owen pulled a cream-colored polo over his head.

The redhead sighed dejectedly. "Not yet. I've been trying to come up with something but I can't stop thinking about how badly I _don't_ want to go to San Diego." Before the events of Jurassic World, before she had reconnected with her family, before she settled down, before Zach and Gray, before _Owen_ , Claire would have leapt at the chance to move to San Diego. If Masrani wanted her at their West Coast headquarters, surely a promotion was on the horizon. The thought would have excited her and she would have killed for the chance. Now, the idea terrified and revolted her.

"Remember," Owen pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, "they need you, Red. You got one hell of a bargaining chip here."

Claire smiled wanly. "If it comes down to it, I just hope they feel the same way." She paused, drew in a breath, fastened her belt and double-checked the buttons on her shirt. "Okay, can we agree to not talk about this in front of Zach and Gray? Please?"

"I won't tell if you won't," Owen promised.

* * *

They parked the black SUV at the trailhead, a dusty shoulder bumped out from the quiet, wooded street. The only other vehicle parked there was a station wagon with a bike rack. Towering silver maples and yellow birches shaded path—a dirt trail that wound through the woods, dipped and rose with the landscape. The towering trees stretched endlessly in front of them, rustling with each breezy gust. A squirrel scurried past, leapt onto one of the maples and shimmied up the trunk, vanishing somewhere amongst its branches.

Gray inhaled the scent of the woods, the trees, the smell that could only really be found in nature. It wasn't an unfamiliar smell. Just one that he didn't experience too often. When he was younger, his dad had promised him and Zach they'd go camping. But things came up and the camping trip never materialized. His mom wasn't a fan of nature, perpetually worried about sunburn or bug bites or ticks. So they didn't go into the woods much and the majority of his outdoor experience came from their fenced backyard, where he could pretend he was a dinosaur hunter and grouses became pterosaurs and squirrels became raptors. He didn't pretend that now.

A hand closed over his shoulder and when he turned, Zach was standing next to him, eyes searching the treetops, following birds that darted from branch to branch, tree to tree. There was an expression on his face that Gray couldn't quite place—the look his older brother always got when he was thinking about something, _really_ thinking.

"What is it?" the younger brother asked, stirring the elder from his pensiveness. Zach looked at him as if noticing him there for the first time, cast a backwards glance to his aunt and uncle who were rummaging in the trunk of the car for water bottles.

"C'mon," he jerked his head toward one of the trees a little way off from the adults and guided Gray over to it.

"What's wrong?" the younger Mitchell appeared concerned now.

"Just…I was thinking. About what you said yesterday at the Union before we went windsurfing."

The boy remembered. He remembered voicing his concern that their aunt was becoming more and more distant. He remembered worrying that things would soon go back to the way they were before—Aunt Claire only calling on their birthdays or at Christmas, never seeing her or Owen. But Zach had been adamant that things would never get to that point again and his confidence had reassured him. Gray bit his lip anxiously and kept his eyes planted on the ground, inspecting the streaks of dirt and the scuffs on the beat-up Nikes he had worn because he didn't have hiking boots. "You said everything was gonna be okay," the boy pointed out.

Zach leaned against the tree, avoided eye contact with his brother, fixed his gaze at a point somewhere down the trail. "I know what I said. But…I dunno. Something's bothering Aunt Claire. She's being too quiet."

It was everything Gray had already noticed but Zach had willfully ignored in the hopes that things would be better by today. "She said something came up," the younger brother offered as if that could explain why Claire was acting so strange.

"But she won't tell us what it is," the teen replied. "Something's _wrong_."

"What do you think it is?"

"I don't _know_! But it's bad, Gray. Did you notice how upset she looks lately?" Gray wanted to cut Zach off and point out that these were all observations he'd made and offered up for evidence yesterday but he decided against it. His older brother was coming around to his point. That was the important thing here. Zach would know what to do. Zach could fix it. He would demand to know what was wrong, ask the right questions to Aunt Claire and Uncle Owen, figure out what was happening.

"Maybe she's in trouble," Zach continued. "Maybe they wanna fire her." Neither Mitchell brother had been following the Jurassic World case very closely. They'd given their depositions in March, told the lawyers everything they could recall, put in words of defense for their aunt and for Owen whenever the opportunity arose. But Zach knew in passing that some of the cases had progressed to the trial phase already, cringed inwardly whenever he thought about what they must be doing with the answers he'd given. Lawyers only pulled out the words they wanted the judge and jury to hear, after all. What if he'd said something that could be taken out of context? What if, unwittingly, he'd just cost Masrani Global the case? Their lawyer had expressed to both brothers in pre-deposition meetings that the first cases would set the precedent for the ones that followed. What if they weren't happy with Claire because of that?

"But Aunt Claire's the best," Gray protested. "They put her on TV all the time. Why would they fire her?"

Zach made a noise and glanced past his younger brother's shoulder as Claire and Owen approached. He shot the boy a glance that told him not to say anything yet.

"Ready to go?" Claire asked, adjusting the bag on her shoulder. Gray, unable to contain himself, surged forward and wrapped his skinny arms around his aunt's waist. Claire was surprised, wavered uncertainly for a second but quickly returned the embrace. "Sweetie, is everything okay?" she asked, glancing to Zach, hoping the teenager could offer her a clue. He shrugged, scrutinized a tree root by his foot.

"I love you, Aunt Claire," Gray said.

The woman looked worriedly from her younger nephew to her older nephew to her boyfriend. Owen's brow quirked for a second as if to say _they know something's up_. "Honey, I love you too. A whole lot." She debated explaining the circumstances to them then and there but decided against it, reminding herself that nothing was set in stone yet. Masrani could very well change its mind. After a moment, she released Gray from her grip. "Let's go?" She again let her gaze dart from Gray to Zach to Owen. "C'mon."

The four set off down the hard-packed path. "I take Blue down this trail a lot," Owen elaborated a few minutes into the hike. "Nice and quiet. Good for a run. There's a little pond up that way, you'll see it in a sec."

"Aunt Claire, you know Mom would let you move in with us if you had to, right?" Gray asked.

Claire froze for a moment, thanked her lucky stars that her sunglasses hid the look of panic in her eyes. Owen's mouth gaped open and Zach gave his brother's shoulder a quick but forceful squeeze. The woman cleared her throat and recovered. "Of course, sweetheart. Of course I know we can come to you if we need it. Just like you could always come to us if you need it." She had to ask. She couldn't stop herself from asking. "What brought that up?"

"Nothing," Gray locked eyes with his older brother. "Just…in case something happened and you couldn't live in your house anymore."

The redhead nodded, swallowed hard. "Let's…keep going, alright?" The four started up the trail again.

"Wait, stop!" Gray hissed, standing stock still. Owen's eyes immediately darted around him, searching for danger. When he realized what the boy had spotted, he grinned. A couple dozen yards out, a doe had stopped and was staring intently at them, trying to determine whether or not to run.

"It's beautiful. I've never been this close to one before," Claire whispered and the thought struck her as strange. She'd been raised in the Midwest. Deer were as common as birds or bugs and yet she'd never gotten this near one. The closest she'd ever gotten to a deer was looking at one in the yard through a window. She had gotten closer to live dinosaurs than to a deer.

"I have," Zach mumbled with a note of sheepish humor. "But it ran into my car."

The doe's ears pricked and flexed with each of their voices and her gaze didn't waver but she didn't move either, instead observing to see what the four would do next. Gray took a half-step forward and the animal immediately shifted position, prepared to bolt. Another half-step and the deer was gone, the cracking of branches indicating its retreat.

"See? Told ya we'd see some animals!" Owen nudged his younger nephew and the four pressed on.

"Do you think we'll see more?"

"Maybe."

They hadn't proceeded more than a quarter of a mile when Owen stopped them this time, indicating a mound of dirt with a gaping hole in it a few feet off the trail. It was almost entirely obscured by decaying leaves from the fall and fallen tree branches. "Know what this is?" he asked the boys, who both shook their heads negative. "Badger den," he told them. "Might've been a fox burrow or something at one point but it's definitely a badger den now."

"You think the badger's home?" Zach questioned, stooping to get a better view of the mammal's dwelling.

"Probably," Gray answered for his uncle. "Badgers are nocturnal. They're probably sleeping right now."

"That's right," the man was duly impressed but not too surprised. He knew the youngster commanded a staggering amount of knowledge when it came to animals.

"And they're the state animal," Gray added.

"Right again. That's why they're the mascot of the greatest institution of higher education in the whole state of Wisconsin," Owen affirmed with a slight nudge to Zach, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"What's that?" Claire pointed to the other side of the trail where a small, weasel-like animal was watching them from a low-hanging branch. She shaded her eyes with one hand to get a better view of it and Owen squinted in the direction she indicated, finally catching a glimpse of the creature.

"Looks like…" he edged closer, "a marten."

"A what?" Zach craned his neck to see it.

"Marten," Owen repeated. "Kinda like a weasel."

"Never seen one," the teen said.

"They like the woods," his uncle answered. "Your development is probably too open for 'em."

"Aren't we lucky to have our own personal park ranger?" Claire teased.

Aside from some birds and few squirrels—and one couple walking their dog—they didn't encounter any other animals over the course of the next two miles or the return trip, and by the time they reached the trailhead again, it was nearly 4 PM.

"We should get back to the house," Claire suggested as they approached the car. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. "Get cleaned up before your dad gets here. What time does he usually get off work?"

"Who knows," Zach answered honestly.

* * *

By 6 PM, they had all showered and freshened up. Owen had the Brewers game on and was watching intently, Zach staring keenly at the screen beside him while Gray alternated between watching the game and petting Blue, who rolled onto her back to let him rub her belly. Claire emerged from upstairs with a towel wrapped around her hair.

"What're we doing for food?" she asked, setting a platter on the coffee table and dumping half a bag of tortilla chips into it. "I don't think chips and salsa is enough."

"Pizza. Quick 'n easy. And they deliver," Owen suggested.

Scott called at 6:30 to let them know he was on the way and would hopefully be there in fifteen minutes. Claire felt her heartrate quicken at those words. It had been easy enough to ignore any lingering discomfort with her ex-brother-in-law visiting but once she knew he was coming, that he would be there in a quarter of an hour, those feelings couldn't be discounted anymore. She hadn't seen Scott in months, had barely thought of him. There was no reason for her to—they hadn't been close before he and her sister divorced. She barely knew him even when the two were married. But he was still Zach and Gray's dad and it felt wrong to exclude him entirely. Especially since he'd given up his weekend with his sons to let them stay with her. Nonetheless, her anxiety heightened and her heart slammed into her chest the moment she spotted an unfamiliar, red Frontier pickup truck pulling up the drive and knew it had to be him. Blue heard the car outside and immediately sat up on alert, a low bark readied in the back of her throat.

"Easy, girl," Owen soothed, rising from the leather couch. He glanced to Claire, who took a deep breath and composed the warmest smile she could. He clapped a hand on her shoulder, squeezed lightly, and joined her at the door just as the man rang the bell.

Claire opened it. "Scott! So good to see you!" she greeted with so much warmth in her voice anyone would have assumed they were old friends. She pushed open the screen door, hugged him and invited him in.

"Thanks for having me," Scott entered the foyer, shook Owen's hand. He was stiff, the smile plastered to his face a little too tightly. Blue barked, moved in circles around the man.

"She's all bark, no bite," Owen assured the man, dragging Blue away from him. "C'mon girl. Get on outta here."

"Dad!" Gray emerged from the great room and charged full-speed into his father, hugging his side.

"Hey, bud," Scott relaxed immediately, rested a hand on his son's upper back. "How you been?"

"Good. We went windsurfing! And hiking!"

"That sounds awesome," he smiled. He locked eyes with Claire for a moment and the woman swore there was a hint of gratitude in his expression that made her beam.

Zach entered the foyer a moment later with a carefully-practiced casualness. "Hey, Dad," he greeted with forced nonchalance.

"Hey, Zach," his dad replied and the tenseness returned. He opened his arms for a hug that Zach reluctantly accepted. Owen frowned for a moment, unsure what to make of the scene but Claire was fairly certain this was routine. She knew her nephew well enough to know that he wasn't the type to outwardly express joy at seeing his father. But that didn't mean he didn't feel it nonetheless.

"How are you?" he repeated the question he had asked Gray when they pulled back.

"Good," Zach nodded, arms folded over his chest. "You?"

"Good," the father replied.

"Pizza should be here soon," Owen put in, trying to cut some of the tension.

"And there's chips and salsa in the great room," Claire added, leading the way.

Scott seemed to relax a little when he saw the Brewers game on. _Common ground_ , Owen figured, inviting the man to sit on the couch. Zach dropped down beside his father and Gray returned to his seat on the floor, back leaning up against the sofa. Claire joined them, perched on the sofa arm nearest her partner.

"You a Brewers fan?" Scott asked Owen.

"Nah," Owen answered. "I'm a Braves fan at heart. Brewers're a close a second, though. Can I getcha a beer or a soda or somethin'?"

"I'm good, thanks," Scott replied, eyeing the game for a moment longer. "So, Gray. Tell me about windsurfing," he requested.

Gray's face lit up. "Uncle Owen took us to Lake Mendota. We got lessons and we got to go out on the lake. I wiped out a couple times but it was so much fun!"

"Sure sounds like it, bud," the father replied. Claire noticed the slight twinge of sadness in his features and felt a pang of guilt shoot up her chest as well.

"You have fun, Zach?" he turned to his oldest son.

"It was awesome!" the teen replied, a smile breaking through his stoic façade despite himself.

"How are you, Dad?" Gray asked.

"Doing good," Scott replied. "Work's been pretty busy but not too bad. Glad I could come see you guys."

Owen saw an opportunity to make small talk and went for it. "What d'you do for a living, Scott?"

"VP of sales," the man answered. "Our company sells a lot of tech components for medical equipment and things like that."

"Sounds like a nice gig," Owen replied honestly. "My mom used to work in sales."

"Not as exciting as training dinosaurs but it pays the bills," Scott said.

"Also less likelihood of getting accidentally eaten on the job," the ex-raptor trainer joked.

"You clearly haven't met my boss then."

The chime of the doorbell indicated that dinner had arrived and Claire got up to pay the delivery driver. At dinner, Gray regaled his father with all of the animals they'd seen on their little hike that day. Scott listened intently, inserted questions here and there. Zach told him about his impressions of windsurfing, his plans to help run a basketball clinic at his school in a few weeks. Claire realized now that Karen really had been right. Things seemed to have gotten much better after the divorce. Scott wasn't the coldhearted person she'd assumed and the boys no longer seemed to carry any resentment for him. And it seemed the father had learned to prioritize. She hadn't seen him glance at his phone once, whereas he couldn't stop looking at the device the last time she'd spent Christmas with her sister's family. Granted, that had been in 2008 but given how things panned out, she couldn't imagine he'd gotten any better until recently.

"So what are your plans for tomorrow?" he asked. The question was directed to the table, not just his boys.

Owen cupped Claire's hand with his own. "We're taking things one day at a time," he told the father. "A little adventure's fun, right?"

"Can we camp out?" Gray asked.

"Where're we gonna do that?" Owen asked curiously.

"The backyard!" the boy replied. "There's lots of space and it'll be just like camping in the woods. Please?"

Owen glanced to his girlfriend, who only smiled. "I don't see why not," she answered for the both of them.

"So that's our plans for tomorrow," the former raptor trainer told Scott with a grin.

Scott stayed until the game finished, with the Brewers winning by two runs in the ninth inning. "I'll see you boys in two weeks?" he asked his sons.

"Two weeks," Zach confirmed and this time he initiated the hug with his dad.

"Bye, Dad," Gray also hugged his father.

"Bye, buddy," the father held his youngest son close for a moment and then released him. "Try not to drive your aunt and uncle insane the rest of this week," he teased.

"Claire's already kinda crazy as it is," Owen taunted and she smacked his arm good-naturedly.

"We'll walk you out," the redhead suggested, holding the storm door open for her one-time brother-in-law. Owen brought up the rear and the three proceeded to Scott's pickup.

"Thank you," the father said gratefully. "For taking care of them and letting them stay the week. It's been hard, you know. For all of us. Them, Karen, me. We haven't really been able to take them anywhere fun since…well since Costa Rica and then the divorce. So thank you for making their summer better. They deserve it."

Claire smiled. "They're always welcome here," she said. "We love having them."

"I should hit the road," Scott excused himself, opening the driver's side door.

"Get home safe," the woman hugged him quickly.

"And don't be a stranger," Owen shook his hand again. The couple stood in the driveway until he had backed the truck all the way out and his taillights had retreated up the road.

* * *

It wasn't until they were inside again and she had gone upstairs to change into something more comfortable that Claire remembered she'd been ignoring her phone all day. She sucked in a breath as she pushed the on button, the power-up menu displaying SAMSUNG in bright, white letters. The phone loaded, then began to vibrate as new emails flooded her inbox. Her pulse quickened as she tapped the app icon and waited for the new messages to populate. One of the first that day had been from Rich. The subject: RE: Relocation. It was the message she had been dreading all day and she almost didn't want to open it. Swallowing hard, Claire tapped the message. Her blue-green eyes darted over every sentence.

 _Claire,_

 _I have taken into account all you have said to me and while I do recognize that we had an agreement, Masrani Global's needs have changed. With the first wave of litigation hitting courtrooms in the coming weeks, the eyes of the world will be turned towards our company. It is imperative that we have our point person on hand during this crucial time. For that reason, I must insist that you relocate to San Diego for the foreseeable future. Here, you will begin the role of coordinating our press response and overseeing all MG operations related to the litigation. Masrani Global will, of course, compensate you for this inconvenience with a one-time relocation package to cover your moving costs and allow you to purchase a new home nearby. Please let me know if we can help in any way. We will talk at length later in the week._

 _Best Regards,_

 _Rich_

 _-  
Richard F. Wiesner  
Chief Operations Officer and Acting CEO, Masrani Global_

Claire read the email again, still incredulous. Then a third time. And by the fourth time, she couldn't even see the words through the distorted, blurry film of tears.

* * *

 **A/N: I know a lot of you were hoping this wouldn't happen but, let's face it, Claire was bound to get relocated sometimes. I wonder how she's going to handle this one? Will she find a compromise? Also, this is the first time I've given an unfiltered view of Scott. Anytime I've written him before, he always seemed like a bad person because I was offering Zach or Claire or Gray's perspective during a turbulent time in their relationship with him. I tried to give a more unbiased view this time. Did it work? Do you hate him a little less? More? Indifferent? Please drop a review and let me know your overall impressions on where this is headed. I love your feedback! Thanks for reading!**


	4. Ghosts

**A/N: Hey everyone! Here's the next chapter! AND, as a bonus, it's a long one! Like a REALLY long one. I hope you'll enjoy—I had a lot of fun writing this one and I tried to pack it full of character and plot development. I'm excited to know what you think. Thank you so much for all your support on the last chapter. The reviews were lovely and very insightful. And as always, thanks for reading, favoriting, following, and all the other ways you all support this story and my writing! I hope you like this one. WARNING! Infrequent, coarse language ahead. It's rated T for a reason!**

* * *

Claire didn't much care for alcohol—didn't like the taste of beer or the throat-burning sensation of hard liquor. The most she would have was a glass of red wine over dinner. But she had to admit that the bottle of Jim Beam Owen insisted on keeping in the wine rack looked pretty good right about now. _Whisky for breakfast? God, Claire, what are you doing?_

There had been a blissful moment—half a moment really—when she had woken up and didn't think of the email she received the night before from Rich. The email confirming her worst nightmare. The email telling her that if she wanted to keep her job, she would have to uproot her life and move to the West Coast. That half moment when she was just emerging from the murky depths of sleep in Owen's arms was quickly ended when the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. This was happening. She was going to have to tell her nephews that she would be moving halfway across the country. She was going to have to break the news to Owen. And even though he'd sworn to go with her wherever, even though she knew he would, it was still a daunting task that she wasn't ready to confront yet.

It wasn't even 8 AM yet and she leaned against the kitchen island, cradling a bowl of Special K in her hand, staring out the window as she ate. She was suddenly filled with a great sense of urgency, the strong desire to soak in this view—the trees, the early-morning sun warming the sky—while she still could. Who knew when she would have this view again? Rich wanted her on-hand as the first round of litigation began to make its way through court. Three cases had already opened last week—California, New York, and Texas and the media firestorm was bound to start heating up as testimony began. She was certain that they would want her in California by mid-July, the end of July at the latest. That left less than a month to figure out living arrangements and moving logistics, not to mention telling her family that she had to leave. There was brief moment where she considered sending in her resignation in response to the email. But that wasn't the right thing to do. Jurassic World had been partially—mostly—her mess. It was up to her to clean it up. If she walked out now, she would be giving up, not making good on her responsibilities. Not to mention the fact that the media would immediately vilify her. 'Claire Dearing Leaves Masrani High and Dry.' She would never find work again. Not after such a catastrophic event as Jurassic World. Any corporation would deem her a liability. It was amazing Masrani Global had even retained her after the fiasco. So there was no choice. She would have to move to San Diego and she would have to play by their rules until this whole thing blew over.

Owen was right, though, she decided. Masrani Global needed her as much as she needed them, perhaps more. The corporation had 'leaked' the footage of her baiting the t-rex out of its paddock, the images of the epic battle between tyrannosaurus and Indominus Rex with her and Owen and Zach and Gray popping up conveniently in the background. The press loved her—the badass corporate employee who risked life and limb to contain Indominus when all else had failed. _She_ was the reason Masrani Global wasn't being dragged through the mud in the public arena. She had willingly played the role that the company wanted her to play, given interviews and press conferences, been hounded by journalists from local TV stations, and she had done it all uncomplainingly. Claire was determined to leverage all of this as soon as she could figure out a way to satisfy both her work and family commitments.

* * *

At 8:30, Gray padded downstairs from his room, bare feet slapping against the wooden stairs and the dog thumping along after him. Blue had taken to spending the nights in his room as of late, curling up by the footboard of the bed and rising at the same time as the boy. Claire was already on her second cup of coffee and deep in thought when her youngest nephew entered the kitchen, bleary-eyed with sleep-mussed hair. Blue was at his heels, then nudged past him to her food bowl, uncharacteristically empty.

"Good morning, sweetheart," Claire forced a smile but quickly shielded it with the rim of her coffee mug. She took a sip, opened the cupboard and reached for the dog food.

"Morning, Aunt Claire," the boy chirped, seating himself on a barstool at the island and resting his chin in his hand.

The dog food rattled around the metal bowl and Blue eagerly awaited her chance to lunge at the dish, the impatient _swish, swish_ of her tail sweeping across the tiled floor filling the kitchen. The canine's nose was buried in the bowl the second Claire withdrew the bag.

"Are we camping in the yard tonight?" Gray questioned. His eyes were fixed on the trees and the expansive patch of green just beyond the gravel driveway.

Claire didn't need to force a smile this time. "Of course we are," she answered readily. The porcelain mug made a hollow _thunk_ as she set it down on the granite countertop across from her nephew and looked him full in the face. He brightened, blue eyes lighting up and she felt her face soften in response.

"But we're gonna need some camping supplies," she pointed out, crossing the kitchen and reaching into a drawer. She drew out a small, yellow steno pad and a ballpoint pen. "Owen and I don't really have anything for camping. Should we make a list?"

"We need a tent," Gray pointed out.

"That's an important one," Claire concurred, writing _tent_ in her neat print on the steno pad. "Maybe more than one. What else?"

"Sleeping bags," the boy replied. It went onto the list. "And lanterns!"

"We have flashlights right here," his aunt pointed out.

"But lanterns are _cooler_!"

Claire gave a good-natured sigh and inscribed _lanterns_ on the pad. "Citronella candles are probably a good idea, too," she said. "To keep the mosquitos away. I think we have some in the garage. Let's see. What else? We have plenty of wood for a fire, but we might need some lighter fluid..."

"Can we make s'mores?" her nephew pleaded.

"It wouldn't be camping without s'mores," the redhead agreed, scrawling _graham crackers_ , _chocolate bars_ , and _marshmallows_ on the ever-expanding list. "What else can we cook over a campfire?"

"Hot dogs!" Gray suggested.

"Good idea," his aunt marked it down. "What about corn on the cob? That's in-season. And we'll need roasting sticks while we're at it."

"What're we up to?" Owen strode into the kitchen and draped one arm over his partner and the other around his nephew.

"We're making a list of the camping supplies we'll need," Claire told him, stealing a good morning kiss.

The man read over the paper. "Lighter fluid?" he made a face. "That's cheating. Besides, you don't need lighter fluid, you got me."

"Because that worked so well with the hammock," Claire teased. "We'll get some just in case. Can you think of anything else we'll need?"

"Not really," he shook his head. "It's just one night in the yard. If we forget something, we can just run up to the house to get it."

"And that's not cheating?" the redhead questioned.

"Nope," Owen answered smugly. "The house's here already. Number one rule of survival: use the resources around you."

Claire rolled her eyes with a smile and ran water into her coffee mug. She placed a drop of soap onto the sponge and scrubbed the cup, at the same time glancing out the window. Tree branches shuddered in the breeze and she was filled with a sense of longing despite the fact she was still home.

* * *

Zach was up by 10 AM, by which time Claire, Owen, and Gray had all finished breakfast. Claire had just finished tapping out an email when her oldest nephew joined her in the kitchen. She pressed send, released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding in, and greeted him. He mumbled a barely-coherent "good morning" in response.

"We were gonna go get some supplies for our little campout tonight," Claire informed him as he opened the fridge and peered bleary-eyed into it. "You coming?"

"Of course," Zach answered, pulling out the carton of orange juice and shutting the fridge with a _thud_. He unscrewed the top, prepared to waterfall the beverage straight into his mouth.

"Ahem," his aunt coughed, freezing him in his tracks. She pointed toward the cupboard with a bemused smirk, compelling the teenager to get himself a glass. He opened the bread box and pulled two slices from the loaf, dropping them in the toaster.

In the great room, virtual gunfire erupted from the television as Gray battled Owen on the PlayStation. Zach made his way over to observe, calling dibs on the next fight against the winner. Claire's phone chimed. She read the reply email and swallowed hard.

* * *

Owen parked the black SUV between a faded blue minivan and a white Camry in a space towards the very back of an endless sea of cars. He hadn't thought the warehouse club would be busy on a Thursday until he realized Fourth of July was two days away. People were shopping for barbecues and parties. A white tent set up in the back of the lot advertised fireworks for sale.

"Sweet," Zach commented, eyes scanning the sparklers, roman candles, and firecrackers laid out on the table.

"No. Uh-uh. No way," Claire clasped a hand on his shoulder and urged him on. "Keep walking."

"Mom never lets us buy fireworks during Fourth of July," Gray complained.

"Tough luck, kiddo, 'cause I'm not letting you buy them either. Your mother would murder me."

"Just a sparkler or two?" Owen instigated.

Claire snorted. "Not a chance, Grady."

The entrance to the warehouse club was packed with rows of oversized shopping carts and shoppers rushing back and forth—some saddled with carts full of bulk merchandise and others flashing their membership cards and being ushered into the front of the store. "Alright, there's ten items on the list," Claire said. "Split up?"

"We'll race ya," Owen grinned impishly, clapping Gray on the back. The boy smirked devilishly.

Claire yanked a shopping cart toward her with one hand and seized Zach's arm with the other. "You're on." She ripped the list in half horizontally and tucked Owen's half into his shirt pocket, then took off towards the entrance, digging her club card from her jeans pocket. Owen and Gray were hot on their heels.

"Losers have to set up the tents," Owen called after them.

"What's on our list?" Zach asked, taking the paper from his aunt's hand as she maneuvered the cart around shoppers leisurely browsing the electronics at the front of the store. Claire knew that Owen's competitive side was the only thing stopping him from drooling over eighty-inch HDTVs she would never agree to buy.

"Food," she replied.

"Chocolate, graham crackers, marshmallows, hot dogs, corn on the cob," Zach read out as they rounded a corner and blew past the clothing section—endless rows of multicolored board shorts and breezy summer blouses folded neatly and piled on top of each other, laid out on pallets.

"Produce section," Claire increased her pace and directed the cart towards the back of the store, paying no attention to the occasional dirty looks thrown her way as she cut around people. She was a woman on a mission and even her nephew could barely keep up.

The corn was kept in its ear, a large box full of the vegetable nestled amongst bulk packs of bell peppers and tomatoes. Plastic bags and a large trash can were positioned conveniently to allow shoppers to shuck the corn before buying. A group of five older women were standing around the trash can and chatting as they ripped the corn from their ears.

"Eight oughta be enough, right?" Claire turned to Zach, who shrugged. The redhead began stuffing ears of corn into plastic bags.

"Uh, Aunt Claire? Aren't you supposed to take it out of the stalk before you bag it?"

"No time!" she answered. "We are _not_ losing to Owen. He'll never let it go."

"And you will?" the teen questioned teasingly.

"Of course not," she replied, dropping the final bag of corn into the cart. "Hot dogs are in the freezer section. Come on!"

"Is shopping always this intense with you and Uncle Owen?" Zach was practically jogging to keep pace with his aunt.

"Only on good days," she shot back, halting the cart in front of a row of frozen grill foods—twelve-packs of burgers and veggie burgers and chicken patties and hot dogs. She grabbed a pack of frankfurters, dropped them in the cart. "What's left?"

"Graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows," Zach ticked them off. His aunt was already moving in the direction.

Claire dropped the sack of marshmallows in the cart with great flourish.

"That's it!" Zach exclaimed. "C'mon, let's get to the checkout before Uncle Owen and Gray finish!" The two swung their shopping cart out into the main thoroughfare, weaving in and out of shoppers until they reached the expanse of registers, all with lines forming rapidly. "I don't see them," the teen exulted, allowing himself the chance to fully catch his breath.

Claire looked around, saw no trace of her partner or her nephew. Nearby, an employee was offering chocolate bar samples. She seized two paper cups and handed one off to the teenager. "To victory," she declared triumphantly, raising the sample cup in a toast.

"To victory," Zach agreed. The line was getting longer and there was still no sign of Owen or Gray. Claire leaned against the shopping cart handle, twisting the thin, paper sample cup over and over in her hand until she had worked it into a knot.

"Aunt Claire?" Zach interrupted her thoughts. She locked eyes with him and the teen ducked his head almost shyly.

"What is it?" she questioned gently.

"Are you okay?" he indicated the twisted-up cup in her hand.

"Oh," she glanced down at it, crushed it in her palm, and searched for a trash can. "I'm fine, Zach."

"You sure?" he pressed. " 'Cause you've been acting kinda upset since Tuesday." He didn't want to admit it but he was worried. His conversation with Gray still weighed heavily on his mind. What if his aunt was about to lose her job?

"I'm okay. Really," Claire lied. "Work's just been…really stressful and even though I took time off, things have been crazy. But I'm okay."

"Are the court cases going alright?" the teen asked, hoping for a clue as to what was wrong.

"They began hearing testimony from witnesses and victims today," she answered. Major news outlets were providing hourly updates with whatever revelations the new testimony provided. "I don't know how it's going, though. I guess we'll see by the end of the day." She swallowed hard. Her nephew's face wavered for a moment and she could feel him studying her intently, as if trying to figure out if she was being honest. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted Owen pushing the cart with Gray riding on the back.

"No way," he said incredulously as he drew their cart alongside hers.

"Yes way," she taunted smugly. "See for yourself, Grady. Looks like _you_ have to pitch those tents tonight," she pointed to the two tents in her boyfriend's cart.

"You got lucky we couldn't find the roasting sticks and had to ask somebody, right Gray?" he nudged the boy.

"That's right," Gray agreed.

"Geez, this line stretches back halfway through the store," the man shook his head and began transferring the items from Claire and Zach's cart into his and Gray's. "Better get in line or we'll be here till Saturday."

* * *

A half hour later, the four passed through the exit of the warehouse club, having had the contents of their cart inspected by store security, as indicated by the line drawn in permanent ink down the front of their receipt. Owen stopped at the curb and scratched the back of his head. "Where'd we park again?"

"Oh god," Claire shook her head.

"I'm kidding," the man grinned after a moment. "I always remember where I parked the car."

True to his word, they found the car with very little effort, Owen leading the way and popping the trunk on the black SUV as they approached. Zach helped him load the two long tents into the trunk, followed by the rolled-up sleeping bags. Claire was helping load the food into the car when Gray suddenly pointed to a champagne-colored hatchback parked a few cars down in the opposite aisle.

"Who's that?" the boy questioned.

Claire spotted a man with a Nikon aimed squarely at the four. "Oh no, no, no, no, no," she shook her head and immediately began marching toward him with determination Owen and the Mitchell brothers hadn't seen since Isla Nublar. "Hey, you!" the redhead shouted to the man. "Stop taking our pictures! No one said you could photograph us!" Zach and Owen hurried to catch up with her, Gray hot on their heels.

The man let the camera drop on its strap around his neck but did not appear too alarmed. "How's it feel to know you killed two hundred people?" he sneered, backing up as she approached. The redhead froze in the middle of the parking lot. "Court just heard from a little girl who lost her mom to a pteranodon," the man jabbed again. "And you're out here shopping with your family like it's no big deal. You saved those nephews of yours no problem, right? What about all the kids who died?"

Owen balled his fists up at his sides and Claire knew he was seething as she felt the tears begin to press at the backs of her eyes. She swallowed thickly, forced them down. It was Zach who spoke first, much to everyone's surprise.

"Shut _up_ ," the teen growled through gritted teeth with so much ferocity Claire was afraid he might actually punch the guy. "Shut the _hell_ up. You don't know _anything_ about my aunt," he jabbed a finger toward the photographer. "She risked her _life_ to save me and my brother and as many other people as she could. You wanna stand there and judge her but we all know that you would've run and saved yourself if you were there. Claire Dearing is braver and more selfless than _any_ of you scumbag assholes who sit around all day judging her and you know it!"

"Whoa! Easy there," Owen said soothingly, stepping between the fired-up teenager and the obnoxious commentator who had suddenly fallen very quiet. "You better get the hell outta here if you know what's good for ya, pal," he warned in a voice considerably quieter than usual. "And I'd erase those photos if I were you." He took another step toward the photographer and the man took off.

The parking lot had fallen silent after the verbal altercation. Shoppers stared, employees rounding up shopping carts stood with their mouths agape, cars sat frozen and idling, their drivers' eyes fixed on the four. Claire screwed her eyes shut for a moment until the pressure behind her eyes subsided and she was certain she wouldn't cry. Gray shifted uncomfortably and slipped his small hand into his aunt's. Zach stared after the photographer, who had long since retreated out of view.

"Let's go," Owen said lowly, glaring at nothing in particular. He slipped Claire's hand into his and they made their way back to the car. They rode home in stunned silence. Owen watched as Claire kept glancing into the rearview mirror, smiling tightly to try to alleviate the tension in her nephews. When that didn't work, she returned to staring out the window, head resting against the glass. Gray bit his bottom lip nervously and kept his gaze fixed dead ahead of them while Zach slipped his headphones on and focused on the passing trees and houses and cars.

* * *

"I just need a minute," Claire said quietly after Owen parked the car in the garage and shut off the engine. He nodded, said nothing in response. The gravel crunched beneath her retreating footsteps and she disappeared from view as Zach and Gray helped him unload the camping supplies. They piled the tents and camping equipment beneath one of the trees and took the food inside.

A minute turned into an hour and the sun was starting to set by the time Claire emerged from the bedroom. The mood was somber in the great room as she joined them, her makeup refreshed and her hair brushed. Her boyfriend pretended not to notice the slight puffiness around her eyes, the redness. She had changed into a pale blue tank top and a pair of shorts and was altogether more collected than she had been after the parking lot encounter.

"So," she said cheerily, clapping her hands together, "camping." Her energy—a sign for them to put what happened at the warehouse club behind them—seemed to revitalize her nephews and even Owen brightened. He stood up, clapped either nephew on the back.

"C'mon, boys, let's go make camp," he encouraged.

They picked a spot near a few tree stumps in the grassy field beyond the gravel driveway and the three-car garage. Owen dropped the bundled-up tents and Zach piled the sleeping bags beside them.

"Have fun with those tents," Claire patted her partner's chest with a gloating expression.

"Hey!" Owen sputtered.

"You lost the race. I don't make the rules," she shrugged, seating herself on one of the stumps. She patted the space beside her. "C'mon, Zach. This'll be good."

Her boyfriend made a show of rolling his eyes and sighing, then said, "A'right, Gray, let's show these two how it's done." He added a little louder, "what your aunt doesn't know is that I've pitched hundreds of tents. Could do it with my eyes shut."

"Oh, like the hammock?" she shot back.

Owen picked up the first stake and worked it a little ways into the ground, then allowed Gray to use the mallet and pound the metal spike the rest of the way in. "See? You're practically a pro already," he high-fived the boy as they moved to the second stake. "Ya know," he turned to Claire and Zach with no small amount of satisfaction, "I think we got this tent thing down. Maybe you two can go bring the firewood over?"

The redhead rose from the stump. "Fine," she sighed. "But only because I love you."

The first tent was up by the time the two returned with arms full of firewood Owen had chopped and stacked by the garage shortly after they moved in. The second tent soon followed and Claire went to bring the food out as Owen set to work on the fire.

"Are you gonna rub twigs together to start the fire?" Gray questioned.

"I could," his uncle admitted, shaping a ring of rocks in an open area of the field and stacking the firewood inside. "But we'd be here forever. Which is why I keep a book of matches on me whenever I'm going out in the woods," he reached into his back pocket and drew out a matchbook.

Gray nudged his older brother. "See? Uncle Owen does it too! It's not stupid."

"Didn't say it was. Your dork pouch on the other hand…" Zach teased, earning him a well-placed elbow to the rib from his younger brother.

When Owen was satisfied with the campfire, he picked up the container of lighter fluid.

"Isn't that cheating?" Gray asked.

"Yeah but your aunt made us get it. May as well use it," the man answered, dousing the wood in the flammable liquid and striking a match. The fire caught immediately and soon there was a comforting warmth emanating from the flame, glowing orange and yellow to match the slowly retreating sun. The scent of burning wood and the sight of dancing fire reminded Owen of that night, half a year ago, when he had lost a raptor and almost lost his life. But the crickets had begun chirping and every so often the low groan of a bullfrog could be heard amid the tall grass and weeds surrounding the pond where they had gone ice skating in the winter. The result was a soothing effect so that he was lulled by the fire, the gentleness around him.

Zach and Gray rolled out the sleeping bags—two for them in the first tent and two of Owen and Claire in the other. Their uncle turned on the battery-powered lanterns and hung them at the entrance of either tent. By that time, Claire had rejoined her family, dragging along a cooler and a few citronella candles.

"The roasting sticks that cost us a victory," Owen said in a mockingly rueful voice. He wielded the two-pronged tools, handing one to his girlfriend and one to each of his nephews. Claire lay the grate from the barbecue over the fire. "Where'd you get that?" Owen asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Your grill," she stuck her tongue out. "Use the resources around you, remember?" She began placing the corn on the makeshift grill as Owen speared a hot dog and held it over the flame, rotating it slowly. Gray imitated him.

"You know," Claire withdrew her frankfurter from the fire and blew on it to cool it down, testing the temperature with a finger, "I never realized how underused this yard was. It's so big and we've hardly done anything with it."

"We can do stuff with it now," Gray pointed out. "We can do stuff with it all summer!"

Claire's face fell and she was grateful for the darkness and the long shadows cast by the fire, concealing her expression.

The four polished off the hot dogs and the corn and Owen broke out the s'mores ingredients just after night descended fully on the campers. The house was bathed in darkness, nearly obscured from view so that it felt like they were in the wilderness.

"Know what this calls for?" the man asked, ripping open the bag of marshmallows and spearing a series of them with the roasting stick. His nephews shook their heads. "Ghost stories," he answered with a playfully menacing inflection.

"Ooh, spooky," his girlfriend piped sarcastically, breaking pieces off a Hershey's bar and laying the chunks of chocolate out on graham crackers.

"Campfire tradition, Red," he answered. "We gotta tell ghost stories. And I got a good one." He scraped the toasted marshmallows off onto the graham crackers and passed them off to his partner and his nephews, who completed the s'more sandwich.

* * *

Gray was on his fourth s'more when Owen finished recounting the tale of a creepy, abandoned house at the end of his block as a child. Legend had it that many years before, a wife had gone insane and butchered her husband in that house. The story was pretty scary, the eleven-year-old had to admit, and he shuddered a little. He felt Zach squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

"I have a ghost story," the boy offered.

"Take it away, buddy," Owen welcomed him.

"This happened in our old house when I was seven. Zach remembers," he indicated his older brother, who gave a knowing smile. "We had a ghost."

"I didn't know that house was haunted," Claire put in.

"It was definitely haunted," Zach confirmed.

"The ghost lived in the garage. We used to hear it all the time at night. It would knock things off shelves, make our bikes fall over. One time it set off the car alarm."

"Your mom never mentioned that…" Claire mused.

"Mom told us it was just a raccoon or something that got into the garage," Zach replied. "But it was definitely a ghost."

"Anyway, it got really bad one day when Mom and Dad went to the neighbor's house across the street. It was just me and Zach in the house and all of a sudden there was this really loud thud sound," the boy smacked the tree stump he was perched on for emphasis and the suddenness of the gesture caused his aunt to jump minutely.

"What'd you do?" Owen asked.

"We were really scared," Gray said. "But Zach wanted to go and investigate so he opened the garage door and there was this old paint can…"

* * *

 _Twelve-year-old Zach Mitchell closed one hand tightly around the cool brass of the garage doorknob, the incessant rattling emanating from within getting louder, more jarring. He kept his other arm behind him, holding Gray back defensively. His heart was beating so loudly he could hear it and his head pounded in time._

" _I hear it," the boy piped from behind his brother. "It's in there!"_

" _Shhh," the older Mitchell urged. "Get the flashlight ready."_

 _Gray complied, raising the flashlight like a weapon, its piercing blue light bouncing off the wooden door. He held his breath as Zach tensed up, then ripped the door open with a single, swift move. A paint can crashed to the cement floor and both Mitchell boys jumped backwards. Gray shrieked and Zach nearly tripped over him as they both darted out of the mudroom, the garage door still wide open. They pounded up the stairs and didn't stop until they had reached the older brother's room, practically diving inside. Zach slammed the door shut and leaned against it as Gray scrambled to his feet and hit the light. The house was silent except for the sounds of their ragged breaths and heartbeats._

" _What do we do, Zach?" Gray questioned breathlessly, beginning to pace._

" _I-I don't know," the elder replied._

" _Should we call Mom and Dad?"_

" _No! They're just gonna tell us it's a raccoon or a squirrel again."_

" _Then what do we_ do _?"_

 _Zach grabbed the seven-year-old by the shoulders, halting him in his tracks and looking him square in the eyes. "I'm gonna think of something, okay? I'm gonna keep you safe."_

" _How?" the boy asked hopelessly._

 _It was Zach's turn to pace. "I got it! Remember that show you were watching on the History Channel the other day? About the knights and stuff?"_

" _Yeah…"_

" _What was that weapon the one guy was using? The hatchet thing."_

" _Battle ax," Gray corrected._

" _Right. That thing. Maybe we can use one to defend ourselves."_

" _Except we don't have one of those," the boy pointed out._

" _We can make one…" he glanced around the room, spotted the twelve-inch ruler he had been using for his math homework on the desk, and snatched it up. The pre-teen racked his brain for something to affix to the end of the ruler and hit on an idea. He crossed to the door and slowly pulled it open a crack._

" _Zach! What are you doing, the ghost is gonna get you!" Gray hissed but fell silent when his brother held a hand up, signifying he should be quiet._

" _Stay here," Zach urged, slipping out into the darkened hall. The house was silent. A sudden creak behind him made him jump and he wheeled around to come face-to-face with his younger brother._

" _I'm coming with you," the boy said simply, grabbing onto his older brother's elbow. He clicked on the flashlight and the two picked their way carefully down the stairs. Zach stopped at the kitchen pantry, not daring to look past the refrigerator to the mudroom entrance._

" _Shine the light up on that cabinet," he told Gray, who immediately complied. The pre-teen opened the cupboard and climbed up on the counter beneath it to reach the top shelf where his mother kept the paper plates and plastic utensils. His hand closed around the plastic bag containing the towering stack of paper dishes and he brought the package down with a forceful yank, hopping off the counter and not bothering to shut the door behind him. The two raced back up the stairs, Gray tripping two steps from the top landing. Zach caught him under his arm and hoisted him up the final two steps. The two brothers dove into Zach's room and slammed the door shut, taking a moment to catch their breaths._

 _Zach jumped to his feet, opened the top drawer of his desk, and pulled out a roll of tape. "Hold this," he handed the ruler to his brother and folded the paper plate in half, then ran the roll of tape around the ruler, crisscrossing the adhesive until the plate was fastened tightly to the makeshift handle in a way that somewhat resembled the medieval weapon he had emulated._

" _What are you gonna do with that?" Gray questioned, wide-eyed._

" _I'm gonna use it to protect us," the older brother answered, bravely throwing open his bedroom door once more. "Get behind me," he commanded and the younger Mitchell fell into place behind him. They inched down the stairs, hugging the bannister. When they reached the bottom, they hugged the wall, moving through the darkened kitchen and into the mudroom where the garage door still stood open, exactly as they'd left it. There was no sound coming from the garage._

" _We know you're in there!" Zach called, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. The twelve-year-old advanced toward the threshold. Gray whimpered and clutched onto his older brother's outstretched hand, clasping it tightly. The elder Mitchell stuck the head of his homemade battle ax into the garage first, then poked his head in. "You need to leave me and my brother alone!" his voice echoed in the room. "See this ax? I'm not kidding! You need to get out! Now!" Something rattled and both boys jumped. Zach fumbled for the light switch and flicked the overhead light on. The yellow glow illuminated some fallen gardening tools, a few overturned paint cans, and some tools on the ground. The rest of the space was as it should be—the old, dark gray minivan in its space, the bikes parked in a neat row in the back corner, their dad's workbench upright with scraps of wood collecting dust. No sign of their supernatural invader._

" _Is it gone?" Gray peeped, looking around his brother into the lightened garage._

" _I think we scared it off," Zach breathed a sigh of relief and turned to his little brother. A triumphant grin broke out on his face. "We did it, Gray! We got rid of the ghost!" They high-fived and Zach let the battle ax fall from his grip, clattering to the concrete floor. He picked it up again, dusted it off, held it up like a trophy and handed it to his younger brother. "Here," he said, "take it. In case you ever have to protect yourself again."_

* * *

"We moved later that year but we never heard from the ghost again," Gray concluded. The fire cast a long shadow across his features but it was obvious he was grinning.

Zach smiled fondly at the recollection, too. In hindsight, he knew his mother had probably been right—it was most likely a stray chipmunk or squirrel that had gotten into the garage when the door was open and concealed itself in a panic at all the noise the two brothers had made in an effort to scare off the ghost. But either way, they had successfully fended off whatever intruder had invaded their home. And that's what mattered. _That's_ what he had drawn on to keep Gray safe while they were running for their lives on Isla Nublar. _That's_ what he kept in mind to remind himself what it meant to be a good big brother.

* * *

Claire wasn't sure what time it was but she didn't want to stare into the harsh glare of her cell phone screen to find out. But it was late, that much she knew. The boys had long since retired to their tent and the rustling of sleeping bags and low, conversational voices had ceased. She leaned tiredly against Owen, watching the last embers of the fire die down. Only the battery-powered lanterns and the fireflies illuminated the campsite now—hundreds of the glowing creatures dispersed across the field, winking at the couple.

"Boys are asleep," Owen murmured, gently pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

"Mmmm," she hummed in response.

He grinned in the dark. "Haven't had a chance to use that hammock yet," he nudged her lightly and she smiled in response. He stood up, closing his hand over hers and gently pulling her to a standing position. Guiding Claire by the hand, he picked his way to the two trees whose trunks anchored the hammock and tumbled into the sling, arms encircling the redhead's waist and pulling her in with him.

Claire let out a giggle as she settled against his chest and he raked his fingers lovingly through her loose waves of hair.

"You okay, babe?" he asked after a long moment. "After what that asshole said in the parking lot today…"

"I'm alright," Claire reassured him. "I mean it was really upsetting when it happened but…well, I guess I can't please everyone." There was a pause. "I heard back from Masrani Global today," she finally began. She had been dying to tell Owen all day but had been waiting for the right moment. Now, alone in the yard of their home, seemed as good a time as any.

"And?"

The redhead sighed. "They're moving me to San Diego." She knew he knew it. They had both been anticipating this eventuality despite hoping against hope that it wouldn't come to bear.

"They're moving _us_ to San Diego," Owen finally said. There was a note of insistency, of finality to the _us_ that reassured her. "I'm coming with you, Red. To the end of the world if I have to. Can't get rid of me that easy." His hands settled on her waist and he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "You thought about how you're gonna break it to the boys?" He had to ask that question. Their nephews would no doubt be devastated by the news.

"I thought of a compromise," Claire replied. "Rich is supposed to get back to me tomorrow with whether or not my request is approved. Then I'll break it to them."

"And what's the compromise?" Owen asked curiously.

"Their main reason for wanting me in San Diego is to coordinate all the initial legal actions against us—our PR response, official memos, all that. So I requested a temporary relocation and explained we already purchased a home here, that you have a professorship coming up, all that. I'm hoping they'll be understanding and only keep me on the West Coast for the duration of the first few cases. That's a couple months at most. And then we can come home."

Owen let the news and the compromise sink in for a moment. "I think it's a good idea," he told her. "And I'm with you no matter what," he swore. "We gotta stick together after all."

"For survival," Claire finished.

* * *

 **A/N: And that's chapter 4! What did you think? It was long but I hope it made sense and that you enjoyed the content and progression—don't expect the other chapters to be this long, though! My favorite part was writing the flashback to the ghost story. Did you guys enjoy that little interlude? (My other favorite was Zach telling off the photographer). What was your favorite part? Things that I got right and things that could use some work? I really tried to build up the sense of home this chapter. How'd I do? And what's your opinion on Claire's compromise? A good one or do you think it's not gonna pan out? I always appreciate any support and feedback you all offer so please drop a comment if you've got some time. As always, thank you so much for reading! I'll see you next chapter!**


	5. Courage and Compromise

**A/N: I'm ba-ack! Sorry I couldn't get an update out sooner—I've been sick this past week and whatever virus is going around my building kicked my ass. But I'm back now! And happy to continue. Thank you so much for all your lovely words of support last chapter. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying. This is our second-to-last chapter, not to disappoint or anything. Please read and let me know what you think!**

* * *

When Zach woke up, he was struck with the momentary panic that always accompanies waking in an unfamiliar environment. It took a second for him to realize that they were in the fluorescent orange tent, sunlight streaming through the semi-translucent canvas like stained glass, warming his face. Gray was rolled to one side, breathing deep and even with sleep. The older brother shifted in his sleeping bag, the nylon fabric scratching with his movement, stirring the younger without waking him up. The teenager threw aside the red covers and sat up, reaching for his phone to check the time. 7:09. He wasn't sure what could possibly have compelled him to be up this early aside from the overly-bright sunlight shining directly into his eyes.

Zach slowly unzipped the tent and peeked outside. The fire was out, nothing but a pile of charred firewood and ash remaining. Aunt Claire and Uncle Owen's tent was still zippered shut, completely still. He sighed, withdrew into his own tent, unlocked his phone again.

He swore he wouldn't do it. He swore he didn't want to know, that it would be better if he just ignored it altogether. But it wasn't even 7:30 yet and no one else was awake to stop him. It was equal parts morbid curiosity and a desperate attempt to reassure himself that his aunt was not going to lose her job over this. Jurassic World was front-page news yet again—the top articles posted on Yahoo, CNN, the BBC, even BuzzFeed News.

TENSE DAY AS COURT HEARS FROM JURASSIC WORLD SURVIVORS

TEARS SHED AS JURASSIC WORLD WITNESSES RECOUNT HORROR STORIES

ATTORNEYS TRADE VERBAL BLOWS IN JURASSIC WORLD CASE

WATCH CLIPS: WHAT THE DEARING DEPOSITION REVEALED ABOUT JURASSIC WORLD

The teen swallowed hard, made sure his headphones were on before clicking any links so as not to disturb Gray. The article posted contained a short write-up summarizing the events in the courtroom accompanied by a video taken in court.

 _8-year-old Alyssa Frasier was on the witness stand yesterday, testifying in the Jurassic World case that has riveted the nation. Frasier lost her left eye in the disaster. Her mother, 33-year-old Amanda Frasier, was killed in the disaster when she was swept up by a pteranodon while trying to protect the girl._

Zach felt nauseated as his eyes skimmed the rest of the article, unable to read the whole thing. Finally, he tapped the video clip and held his breath as a generically attractive brunette news anchor appeared onscreen.

"Yesterday was a day full of emotions as the court heard some heart-wrenching testimony in the Jurassic World case," she began. "Masrani Global, the holding company that held the rights to Jurassic World, is being sued over the disaster, which occurred just days before Christmas last year. Over two-hundred people were killed when several species of dinosaur—most notably the park's genetically-modified hybrid the Indominus Rex—escaped from their enclosures. The court viewed clips from the deposition of Claire Dearing, senior assets manager at the park and the woman widely recognized for containing the incident. The plaintiff's attorneys have alleged that Jurassic World was negligent in its construction of the park and its handling of the tragedy. Take a look."

Claire faded onto the screen. Zach remembered the depositions—remembered being there and being hounded with questions from a team of lawyers representing the victims of the tragedy. He remembered his own attorney and the ones representing Masrani objecting, shouting indignantly until the court reporter had to interrupt and settle them down. He remembered his own nerves—tamped down and hidden under an indifferent scowl—and Gray's, obvious as the boy bit his bottom lip and shifted his hands uncomfortably. He remembered how the attorneys had wanted them separated, but he had adamantly insisted that Gray be allowed to sit in the room for his deposition and vice versa. He hadn't seen any of his aunt's deposition footage until now but he could imagine how rigorous it had been. She had spent three days having hers taken, after all.

"Ms. Dearing, you testified previously that Jurassic World's assets had tracking implants embedded inside them when they were still infants, and that those implants would shock the animal if they wandered out of their designated zones. Is that correct?" Zach recognized the off-screen voice as that of one of the lead plaintiffs' attorneys on the case. She had a clipped manner of speaking that he remembered from when she had questioned him.

"That's correct," Claire answered and the teen could tell that his aunt was nervous, though trying not to show it.

"Well then explain to me, Ms. Dearing, why, when the aviary was breached, Jurassic World's pterosaurs were able to escape without being shocked."

The redhead took a deep, patient breath. "The pterosaurs did initially have shock implants but we frequently encountered a problem where they would fly too high in their own enclosures and receive a shock. Therefore, we had the implants removed."

"And so you deemed it acceptable to have no way of stopping your pterosaurs from escaping?"

"We believed that the aviary was secure enough without the shock implants."

There was an awkward cut in the video, followed by another of his aunt seated at the same conference table as before but looking much more worn down.

"Ms. Dearing," the same attorney was speaking. "I'm going to show you what's been previously marked as Exhibit 18 to your deposition. Take a minute and tell me if you can identify what this is a photo of."

The woman studied the image for a moment. "That's the door of the Indominus Rex paddock."

"Ms. Dearing, approximately how tall and how wide was that paddock door?"

"It was approximately forty feet high. I don't remember how wide it was."

"Wide enough for the Indominus Rex to fit through?"

"Yes."

"Care to explain to the court why Jurassic World would construct an opening in the paddock big enough for the creature contained within it to escape?"

"The paddock was a temporary facility for Indominus Rex," Claire replied carefully. "Our intent was to move her to an exhibition area in the main park once she was fully mature and ready to be shown to the public. For that reason, the paddock door had to be big enough for her to be transported out. Besides, standard practice is to have an opening in the habitat that is big enough to move the animal through should the need arise. Zoos and aquariums have similar setups. It's not out of the ordinary."

The clip faded out and the news anchor returned onscreen. "The court has adjourned for the Fourth of July weekend but testimony is expected to resume on Monday. For Yahoo News, I'm Lena Cabrera."

Zach let his head fall back against his pillow and released a measured breath through his nostrils. Aunt Claire had done a good job. She'd held her own better than he had for sure. But the lawyers had somehow managed to twist her deposition around, claiming she had been negligent. The more he thought about it, the more apparent it seemed that his aunt was losing her job. Why else would she be so on edge about the whole thing?

"Zach?" Gray rolled over and sat up groggily, peering at his brother through half-shut eyes.

"What's up?" Zach murmured, letting his phone fall to his side.

"You awake?" the younger brother asked groggily.

"Yeah, I'm awake," the elder sighed. "You okay?"

"Bad dream," the boy answered sleepily.

The teen's face softened and he reached for Gray, who scooted over beside him. "What happened?"

"I dreamed about the ghost in the garage," he said. "Only it wasn't a ghost this time."

"It was a dinosaur." It wasn't a question. Zach didn't need to ask. There was only one other thing it could have been.

"Spinosaurus," Gray clarified.

"Spino-what?"

"Spinosaurus! Theropods that lived in North Africa. They looked like crocodiles. They were carnivorous but scientists think they probably lived on land and in water and ate animals and fish," Gray's voice rose in pitch and speed as he elaborated.

"Okay, okay," Zach soothed his younger brother. "Scary dinosaur. I get it. I don't remember those being in Jurassic World."

"They weren't," the eleven-year-old answered. "But if they could bring back a T-rex, why can't they bring back a spinosaurus? Or a tyrannotitan? Or a majungasaurus?"

Zach had to admit that he hadn't considered that possibility. Not that it was so far-fetched. If Masrani could recreate dinosaurs, surely there was some other company out there that was doing the same thing. And who knew what they were planning on using them for.

"Even if someone brought back all three of those dinosaurs, I wouldn't let anything happen to you," Zach put his arm around Gray and pulled him closer. "You know that, right?"

"I know," the younger brother answered.

A shadow loomed outside the tent. "You boys up?" their aunt's voice rang out, warm and cheerful.

"Yes," the Mitchell brothers answered in unison.

"I thought I heard your voices." A second shadow joined her at the opening of the tent.

"Let's go! Up and at 'em!" Owen's voice resonated. "Gotta break down this campsite if you boys want breakfast!"

Zach squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then released a puff of breath and sat up. "Alright, alright. We're up."

Owen's hand came to rest on Claire's hip, giving a reassuring squeeze as he nuzzled past her wavy red locks and pressed a kiss to her cheek, coarse stubble leaving pinpricks along her skin. Claire allowed herself a moment to revel in his touch, her skin gleaming in the early morning sunlight and the strap of her tank top slightly askew, having been donned hastily after the previous night's lovemaking.

A rustling noise, followed by the sound of the tent being unzipped, called both back to reality and a moment later, the couple was greeted by the sleepy faces of their nephews. Owen's hand was still resting at her waist and he was grinning that _grin_ at her, his green-gray eyes shining in rapture and if it weren't for the kids right there in front of her, she probably would have dragged him to the bedroom—or better yet, their tent—and spent the rest of the day there with him.

"Ew," Gray teased, spotting the pair gazing at one another as he crawled forth from the tent's opening and stood up, brushing himself off.

Claire pulled away from her lover, more amused than embarrassed by her nephew's reaction.

"Alright, let's go, boys," Owen clapped his hands together, voice assuming a quality and volume that reflected his military past. "I need Gray to start taking the supplies back up to the house. Zach, you and me are gonna start taking these tents down."

"What's Aunt Claire gonna do?" Gray questioned.

"Whatever Aunt Claire wants to do," he replied, looking past the eleven-year-old to meet the redhead in question's arched eyebrow with a smirk. "Number one rule of any successful relationship, kid. You let the alpha call the shots."

Claire shook her head. "C'mon, sweetheart," her hand closed over Gray's shoulder. "There's some plastic bins the garage that we can store the supplies in. Let's go get them."

A short time later, the two had piled up the loose camping supplies in the crates and were carrying them off to the house to sort through. Zach set to work disassembling the tents while Owen worked the metal stakes out of the ground. The teen frowned as he distractedly took apart the joints holding the canvas structure together. Owen glanced up, saw his pensive scowl.

"Everything alright?" he asked his nephew, knowing full well that everything was _not_ alright and that Zach was going to try to persuade him otherwise.

Sure enough, the teenager looked like a deer caught in headlights for a brief moment and then quickly recovered. "Yeah, everything's fine," he murmured, prying one of the tent poles free from its socket.

"I'm convinced," Owen replied sarcastically. When that elicited no response, he tried a new tactic. "Y'know, I haven't been part of your family for long so it's probably kinda awkward to have a heart-to-heart with me. I get it. But you know you can talk to me 'bout anything, right?" He kept his hands busy pulling out the final stake in the first tent, focusing on his calloused fingers instead of on his nephew.

"Do you love Aunt Claire?" the teenager finally blurted, expelling the question the way one might spit out a piece of bone or a bit of peanut shell. The force and speed at which he asked it took Owen aback.

"Of course I love her," he replied without hesitation. "I love Claire more than anything in the world."

"How do you _know_ you love her, though? Like, how do you know when you love someone?"

The man smirked to himself for a moment, recalling the strawberry blonde he'd seen his nephew Facetiming with. Of course it was girl trouble. But he had to stop and think. How _did_ he know he loved Claire? There was no question in his mind that he loved the woman. He loved everything about her—loved the way her hair looked in the morning before she had brushed it, the way her eyes softened when she looked at him or at their nephews, her boisterous laugh that she always felt self-conscious about, the way her voice could switch from warm and gentle to cold and business-like at the drop of a hat. Most of all, he loved her toughness, her sense of duty, her fearlessness, the way she never backed down from a challenge. He loved that she wasn't afraid to go toe-to-toe with him and that no matter how sarcastic his remark, she always had a wittier comeback ready. They were of one mind. Always had been. He knew _what_ he loved about Claire Dearing. But how did he know he was _in love_ with Claire Dearing?

"I guess," he began haltingly, "I guess you know you love someone when you don't wanna leave 'em. When you can't live without 'em, that's when you know you love 'em." It was clichéd and hackneyed and he was better than that, but it was true. He had lived without all of past lovers. He had lived without his career in the Navy. He had lived without his raptors, three of whom were dead now. He had lived without all of the things he thought he loved the most, but the one thing that scared him, that _terrified_ him, that kept him up at night was the thought of losing Claire. Claire Dearing was the one thing in his life he could truly say he could not live without.

"And that's how you feel about Aunt Claire?"

"That's how I feel about Claire."

The teen thought the words over, let them sink in. "So…if something happened…like to her job or something, you'd stick with her, right?" Zach had finished collapsing the structure of the tent and was rolling up the canvas, if only to keep himself busy.

The older man frowned at the turn in the conversation and he wondered if the teen knew more than he was letting on. Claire certainly hadn't told them yet. "Of course. No matter what, we stick together. What brought that on?"

"I dunno," Zach shrugged, stuffing the tent poles into the bag. "Just…I mean with the court case going on and everything…It just seems different. I dunno what's gonna happen."

Owen was quiet for a bit, wrenching another stake free from the ground as he collected his thoughts. "I dunno what's gonna happen either, Zach. But whatever comes next, I'm gonna be right by Claire's side. We take care of each other. And that's what I'm gonna do."

"You promise?"

He met the teenager's gaze and nodded resolutely. "I promise," he affirmed.

Zach's entire posture relaxed noticeably, as if an enormous weight had been lifted off the teen's shoulders. His eyes softened. Owen recognized the look from his days training raptors. It was a look of acceptance, of approval, of respect. He had received the same look from Blue, Charlie, Delta, and Echo. And he understood that it wasn't a look that was given so much as _earned_. He would have to make good on that promise if he wanted to keep that respect.

* * *

"What're we gonna do today?" Gray questioned his aunt as he handed her the final sleeping bag to stow on the top shelf of the coat closet in the foyer. Claire climbed down from the stepstool and shoved it back into the corner of the closet, shutting the door with a final _thump_.

"I'm not sure, sweetheart," she answered, dusting off her hands. "What do you wanna do?"

The boy shrugged.

"Why don't we go out and see if Owen and Zach are finished breaking down camp, and then we can decide?"

Gray nodded and she clasped his hand in hers, leading her nephew back out across the gravel-lined driveway to the lush field beyond, where Owen was stuffing the last rolled-up canvas into the bag.

"We worked. Time to eat," she called out as they approached.

"Couldn't agree more," Owen replied.

* * *

There wasn't enough food in the house to prepare a full breakfast, so the four found themselves in the middle of a nearly-empty pancake house on a Friday morning, the massive ceiling fan in the middle of the dining room rotating slowly, _whoosh_ ing with each rotation. Only three other tables were occupied, hosting three retired couples who lingered over cups of coffee and unfurled newspapers that bore Claire's face on the front, compelling the woman to keep her head down for fear of being recognized.

Owen and Claire sometimes found themselves in this pancake house on Sunday mornings when neither felt like cooking. It was much more crowded on those days. It was a family-run place, a mainstay in Madison for as long as Claire could remember. She had come here frequently as a child. Nothing had changed as far as she could tell. The tables were heavy, oaken, sticky with syrup in certain places and the shaggy, pink carpet muffled the footsteps of the middle-aged waitress that sauntered over to fill their water glasses.

The server tapped the tabletop with her long, red-painted fingernails and pulled a notebook from her apron pocket like she was pulling a gun from its holster. "You folks ready to order?" She scratched the corner of her mouth, her lips painted a shade of bright pink ordinarily found on a teenager. Her eyes were caked with blue eyeshadow that settled in the deep-set crevices of her face. Claire hesitantly cast a glance upward, dreaded the flash of recognition in the woman's eyes. But there wasn't any flash of recognition and the waitress stared at the family of four with disinterest.

The redhead breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "A cup of coffee, please," she requested.

"Make that two," Owen added.

"Orange juice, please," Gray asked, and Zach echoed his sentiment. The waitress left the table with the promise to put the drink orders in.

Claire glanced nervously around the dining room, briefly locked eyes with an elderly woman four tables away, and quickly averted her gaze before the woman could make the connection. She reached behind her for her red leather purse, closed her fingers around the soft, pliable material, and tugged the bag into her lap, digging within for her phone. She drew the device out and unlocked the screen, using her red-tipped index finger to tap in her passcode. She opened her email app, swiped up to refresh. She knew it was ridiculous to expect a reply this early. It was 9:30, which made it 7:30 in San Diego. The office wasn't even open yet. But nonetheless, she swiped up over and over again, each time dreading the little _ding_ and the accompanying vibration that would alert her to a new message. Her inbox remained empty.

The waitress returned, set down their drinks, took their orders, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"There's a fireworks show tonight," Owen spoke up. "S'posed to be a big one."

"That sounds fun," Claire tried to sound cheerful but her voice was tense even to her own ears. "Should we go?"

Zach shrugged. "If we can't have our own fireworks, at least we can go see them."

"A'right," Owen concluded. "They start at around six with the food and all. Fireworks start at nine." He was proud of himself for thinking of it. Fireworks were bright and festive and fun. Exactly what was needed to help Claire forget about her pending relocation and to pull their nephews out of the darkened mood they'd found themselves in since Claire had missed that one day and they realized something was wrong.

The waitress returned, set steaming piles of flapjacks in front of them. Gray drowned his in syrup, Claire nibbled at hers, all the while neurotically refreshing her email, reading over old communications, then refreshing again to see if anything had changed. Owen was left trying to make conversation, which Zach did his best to uphold and involve his younger brother in. Claire _hmmm_ 'ed and _uh-huh_ ed distractedly, letting her phone clatter to the table with an exasperated sigh every now and then but almost immediately picking the device up to begin the routine once more.

* * *

By that evening, Claire must have checked the device a thousand times. Owen sat on the couch in the great room, an intense look of concentration on his face as he tried to maintain his twelve-match winning streak on the PlayStation. Zach and Gray had thus far been unsuccessful at dethroning him, but with each attempt they grew closer to his score.

"Gotta try harder than that if you wanna beat the master, kid," Owen cackled as Gray chucked the controller aside in frustration.

"How are you so good?" the boy questioned.

"Because your Uncle Owen has nothing better to do all day," Claire answered, joining her family in front of the television and perching herself on the sofa arm nearest her partner. "It's almost 5:30," she took yet another glimpse at her phone. "Don't you wanna go to the fireworks show?"

Owen stretched, let the controller drop onto the cushion beside him. "You're right."

"You're just saying that 'cause you know I'm gonna win next round," Zach challenged, a cocky grin overtaking his features.

"That so?" the man reached for the video game controller again. "Sounds like a challenge…"

"A challenge," Claire interrupted, seizing the remote from him, "for another time. Because right now, we're going to a fireworks show." She surprised herself with how insistent she was. Ordinarily, she would have been perfectly happy to skip the show, watch it from the window, and spend the night in if that's what the boys wanted. But the longer Masrani Global delayed in responding to her request for compromise, the more she lost hope. Maybe this would be her first and last Fourth of July in Madison with her nephews. Maybe she wouldn't have the chance to take them to a fireworks show next year. Or the year after. Or maybe ever again. She was going to seize this opportunity while she had it.

"Your aunt's right, guys," Owen locked eyes with his girlfriend and stood up, powering down the console. "We can play later but if we want any shot of parking or seeing those fireworks tonight, we gotta get a move on."

Claire smiled to herself as she buttoned up the first three buttons of her crimson blouse and draped her handbag over her shoulder. Owen reached for his keys on the key rack but her slender fingers closed around his wrist, stopping him. "I'll drive," she insisted, plucking her own car keys from the rack. He didn't protest as he followed her out, their nephews close behind.

The redhead slid behind the wheel of the silver Mercedes sedan, gripped the slick wood of the steering wheel, inhaled the scent of fresh leather. The car was cool from the shade of the garage and smelled new from its disuse. Claire wondered if this would be the last time she'd slip behind the wheel. _Stop it. You'll be back. This is a temporary move, not a funeral. No one's dead._ Only that wasn't really true either. Two hundred and twelve people were dead. That was why she was being moved in the first place.

* * *

The municipal complex was packed with residents of Madison and the surrounding areas, all gathered to watch the display and celebrate freedom. It was bitterly ironic, Claire thought as she parked the silver sedan beside a red subcompact on the grass where traffic police had directed the overflow traffic. The smells of charcoal grills and barbecued meat wafted through the air and a row of inflatable bounce houses bobbed beneath the weight of screaming, sock-footed children jumping around inside, their relatives snapping photos and chatting and drinking beers fetched from portable coolers they had brought with them. A group of older men in fishing vests sat on the grass in collapsible lawn chairs, having staked out their prime viewing spot in advance.

Claire hid her face behind oversized sunglasses, strolled amid the aisles of booths set up in the parking lot, clenched and unclenched her fists as she fought down the urge to reach into her purse and dig out her smartphone. A stall offered patrons the chance to win a stuffed animal in return for knocking over three stacks of bottles.

"Can I try?" Gray pleaded, tugging on the sleeve of her blouse.

"I dunno," Owen responded for her. "Not as easy as it looks. They rig these things, y'know."

"Just one chance," the eleven year old persisted. "I bet I could do it."

"He's not gonna quit till you let him," Zach advised.

"What's the harm in taking a chance," Claire said, reaching into her handbag. Her heart skipped a beat when her fingers brushed against the smooth plastic of her phone but she moved past it, drew out a dollar. "One round, please," she handed the bill to the man operating the booth.

He took it and reached beneath the counter, pulling out three skee-balls. "Say, aren't you…?"

"No," the redhead put in quickly, turning slightly.

"…the woman who bought the old lodge house a couple streets over?" the man finished. "Off Oak Hollow Road, right?"

Claire flushed with embarrassment and mustered her most polite smile. "Yes. Yes, that's right. We moved in February."

"My wife and I took a look at that house when it was on the market," he handed the skee-balls to Gray. "Great piece of property. I'm Marshall."

"Nice to meet you," the woman answered tersely, deliberately neglecting to introduce herself in return. "Go ahead, sweetie," she nudged her nephew. "I'll be over here."

Gray hurled all three skee-balls at the bottles and succeeded in nudging the top of one formation, but the pyramid of glass ultimately did not fall over.

"Sorry, kid," Owen said ruefully.

Zach fished a bill out of his pocket. "Let me try."

Marshall shrugged, queued up another three skee-balls for the teen. "Good luck."

Zach concentrated on the center of the stack, thought back to his days pitching in little league and all the three-point drills from basketball practice. With careful aim, he released the first ball and knocked over the stack. Gray tensed beside him, eyes widening with anticipation as the older brother lined up his second shot and hit with similar results.

"C'mon, Zach, _c'mon_!" the younger brother cheered.

The teen wet his lips, fixed his glare directly at the third and final stack, took aim, and heaved the ball at the target. The resounding _crash_ of six bottles falling to the ground was all the confirmation he needed.

" _Yes_!" Gray whooped, throwing his arms around his brother's waist. "You're the _best_ , Zach!"

"Go pick one," he deflected, but the corners of his mouth tweaked upwards with satisfaction as he watched the boy choose—of all things—a plush velociraptor. The stuffed animal was a grayish-green, with cobalt blue chevrons sweeping up either side of its neck. Its tail concluded in a red point. It almost looked like a corrupted combination of all of Owen's raptors and the teen momentarily wished his brother had chosen anything else. But the eleven-year-old seemed happy with his choice so he said nothing.

* * *

Claire was fiddling with the trinkets for sale at a nearby booth—tacky wood carvings of bald eagles, tin Rosie the Riveter garage signs that had seen better days, garish Uncle Sam hats with fluffy, white beards attached to their brims that shed material every time they were disturbed. The misshapen woman manning the booth smiled, revealing several missing teeth. "Two for fifteen," she indicated the wood carvings. Claire smiled politely but said nothing.

"Aunt Claire, Aunt Claire, Aunt Claire!" Gray bounded up to her, waving the stuffed dinosaur excitedly, causing her to recoil momentarily. "Zach won it!"

"Wow!" she did her best to seem enthusiastic instead of vaguely horrified. "That's…that's really nice!"

Owen clapped a hand on her shoulder, offered her a sheepish grin, and checked his watch. "7:30. We should probably stake out a spot to watch the show."

"Can we get cotton candy?" Gray asked, gaze fixed on another stall advertising the spun, sugary treat.

"There is no _way_ I'm about to let you eat that much sugar," Claire snorted. "But we can get kettle corn instead."

"Deal," the boy compromised.

* * *

The family settled at a point in the middle of the grass where they had parked. The view of the dark sky was relatively unobstructed and the spot was noticeably less-crowded than the municipal center parking lot where locals jabbed elbows and vied for room to see the show. The four leaned against the hood of the car, looking over the heads of the people who laid out blankets and beach towels or lounged in lawn chairs as the clock edged closer to 8:00. Gray reached into the plastic bag of kettle corn and popped the sticky kernels into his mouth. Claire dipped her hand in after him, drawing out a fistful of the snack and absently plucking them from her palm to keep her hands busy.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a male voice sounded in the distance. The music that had been playing throughout the festival-like setup had stopped. "Our Fourth of July Fireworks Show will begin in just a moment!"

"Lift me up!" Gray pleaded with his older brother.

Zach lifted the boy. "God, you're heavy," he grumbled setting the boy down on the hood of the sedan. "There. Now you can see and I don't have to break my back." The younger brother seemed satisfied with the arrangement and the teen perched himself beside his brother on the hood, swiping kettle corn from the bag.

The suddenness of the first flare startled everyone—hundreds of spectators tensing in unison as a single, red rocket traced a high arc in the sky to signal the start of the display. The redhead stood frozen, transfixed on the scarlet light that winked its way across the blackness of the sky. _It looks almost exactly like_ —

She stopped her train of thought there, refusing to consider exactly what the singular reddish-pink light looked like with its tail of smoke. But she couldn't help it. She glanced over her shoulder, saw only the rows of cars and families milling about, eyes turned upwards. Small children rode on their dad's shoulders or their mother's backs while grammar-school-aged kids chased each other in and out of the parked cars. There was no danger here. The red flare was just a firework this time. It wasn't baiting anything along.

A second pop caused her to flinch again and this time she was sure she was the only one who tensed. She bit down hard on an unpopped kernel of kettle corn and relished in the pain that momentarily distracted her as a volley of gold and green and silver rockets launched skyward, the rhythmic snapping of their explosions showering over the crowd, some of whom cheered. Another series of explosions—this time blue and white—rang out. She gulped, felt her pulse rate increasing. The next series of fireworks were red. They burst mid-arc, leaving a weeping-willow shaped cloud of smoke and crimson sparks that caused the woman's breath to grow shorter and shorter.

* * *

Zach blanched with each new _snap_ or _pop_ of the fireworks display. _C'mon. Grow up. They're just fireworks_. But he still froze, eyes blown wide with some mixture of fear and astonishment at every launch and every mid-air explosion. It had been more than six months since the island. Over half a year since he'd watched on his aunt's iPad screen as the Costa Rican jungle was lit ablaze with rocket launchers. Over half a year since he'd felt the shockwaves of the Indominus Rex bearing down on him and heard the exploding streetlights of the park's main thoroughfare overhead. Over half a year since his aunt had hurled that red signal flare at the beast's flank, half a year since he'd seen Echo flambéed in the steakhouse grill. It was over half a year since he'd been in contact with so much fire and so many deafening noises all at once and it felt like the first time he returned to school after the incident, when the sound of the bell ringing and the massive, undulating movement of students going to class caused him to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the hallway.

He could feel the first inklings of panic seizing his chest, the cold creeping sensation beginning at the base of his spine, the pounding of blood rushing to his head and he had to force it down. _Hold it together_. He swallowed, shut his eyes, took so many deep breaths he thought he might hyperventilate. Then, the teen's eyes snapped open and he looked up at Gray just in time to catch the boy as he pitched forward.

* * *

Gray thought he was fine. He thought it was all okay after six months of being home, away from the island. His therapist had told him he was making good progress. She had even suggested reducing their sessions to once a week. He was better now. He was cured of the PTSD and the anxiety and all of the complicated psychological terms she'd thrown at him that he didn't fully understand. But then the first flare went up, and the second, and the first volley of rockets followed soon after.

The boy knew when a panic attack was coming on by now. He'd had enough of them in the period after Jurassic World. They always started the same—his breath would come in shorter and shorter gasps, until he felt like he was struggling to draw fresh air into his lungs. His palms would turn sweaty and then the cold sweat would start forming on his back, his forehead, his armpits. His heartrate would spike, beating so loud he could feel it pulsing in his ears. Next came the dizziness and that weird floaty feeling like he'd stood up to fast. Then came the overwhelming urge to throw up until he was dry-heaving and gagging and finally, if he hadn't calmed down by then, he would black out. That was it went.

But that hadn't happened in a while. His last full-blown panic attack had been in March, when a fire drill took place while he was washing up in the bathroom. They found him unconscious with the sink still running and he woke up in the nurse's office with a crowd of teachers and school staff surrounding him. He was better now.

Until the cold sweat started beading up on his palms and running down his back and he couldn't pull oxygen into his lungs. And with each loud crack of the fireworks overhead, his heartrate surged and he grew dizzier and dizzier. The kettle corn bag fell from his grip involuntarily and he swayed on his feet, still standing on the hood of the silver car. Gray reached a hand out to steady himself as he felt his knees buckle and the final vision he had before he passed out was Zach reaching up to catch him, face pale with worry, with green and blue explosions lighting up the sky behind him.

* * *

Owen realized he'd made a mistake the moment he saw Claire tense at the first flare. He had thought it would be okay. He had thought there was enough distance between Isla Nublar and now. But even he had to admit there was something disturbing about the fireworks show. The acrid smell of smoke hanging in the air, irritating his eyes. The bright flashes of the explosions, the ringing in his ears all hit a little too close to home, all reminded him a little too much of that chaotic night in the forest. Another round of rockets and flares and he started seeing the Indominus Rex, his raptors, the doomed In-Gen security forces. He started smelling the burning wood and leaves and gunpowder residue and the mud and the sweat and the gasoline. He had to remind himself that this was Madison. This was home. The fireworks wouldn't give way to a jungle full of dangers. He gripped Claire's arm but he wasn't sure if he was trying to comfort her or himself.

"Uncle Owen!" Zach's desperate voice shook him from his thoughts and he twisted around just in time to see the teenager catching his younger brother. The man cursed under his breath, causing Claire to turn around.

"Oh my god," she exclaimed, rushing to the brothers and kneeling in the grass by their side. "Gray? Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

The boy emitted a low groan and twisted in Zach's arms. His face was flushed and sweaty.

"Gray, buddy, you gotta get up," Owen patted the boy's cheeks. "What happened?" he turned to the older brother.

"He just went down," Zach said breathlessly. "I think he had a panic attack."

Owen felt a pang of guilt shoot up his chest. _Idiot! Why did I even_ think _fireworks were a good idea?_ "Gray, c'mon," he pleaded with his nephew. A loud series of booms erupted behind them and the eleven-year-old sat bolt upright, emitting a whimper barely audible to the three gathered around him. The sky lit up as if it were the middle of the day, illuminating the thick smoke clouds that still hung in the air. Gray's blue eyes were wide with terror and Zach practically wrestled his little brother into his arms, rocking him back and forth, whispering comforting words into his ear like he was a toddler having a bad dream. Owen winced at the boy's fear. _This is all my fault._

The fireworks display ended with a deafening volley of red, white, and blue rockets. The crowd erupted in whoops and cheers as Lee Greenwood's _God Bless the USA_ began playing over the speakers dispersed around the booths and stalls. Around them, people started rising from their seats. Owen and Zach helped an unsteady Gray to his feet. The boy glanced around in embarrassment.

"Here, honey," Claire uncapped a water bottle and handed it to her youngest nephew. "Drink it slowly."

" 'S get outta here," Owen looked to the crowd starting to head back to their cars. Claire nodded in agreement and together, the three helped Gray into the backseat of the sedan. Zach climbed in after him, one hand clasped tightly around his brother's bicep as if trying to steady him. Even after the boy had clicked his seatbelt into place.

* * *

Claire swung the car out of the grassy makeshift parking lot and onto the street. A shell-shocked silence fell upon the four until Owen cleared his throat. "I…I'm sorry, guys. I thought the fireworks would be fun. I didn't think about…"

"It's not your fault, Uncle Owen," Gray returned immediately, eagerly.

"Yeah, you didn't know," Zach echoed his younger brother's sentiment. "It's not your fault."

Somehow, even if his nephews forgave him, Owen couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, of abject horror when he watched his nephew collapse. He hadn't felt that afraid since the Jurassic World incident they had all just flashed back to.

"I know what'll make this better," Claire said quietly, the headlights of a passing car illuminating her almost conspiratorial smirk.

Owen arched an eyebrow. "What's that, Red?"

"You'll see." She pulled off the road a moment later, piloting the silver sedan into a parking lot in front of a red building clearly constructed to resemble a barn. It was tall, nearly three stories, with a silo attached to one side. The door was made of glass and set into a wide, white frame that looked like an open barn door. A hand-carved bench sat beside the entrance and a fluorescent white glow emanated from within. The little white sign out front read _Millie's: Best Ice Cream in Madison Since 1954_. An image of a cow leaping over a triple-scoop cone underlined the business name.

"Ice cream?" Owen questioned, getting out of the car as soon as his partner killed the engine.

"There is no problem in the _world_ that ice cream can't fix," she affirmed. In truth, she hadn't had ice cream in ages. Her diet hadn't allowed for something so full of sugar and dairy. But these were special circumstances and right now, they _all_ needed something to take their minds off of the fireworks experience. Owen had meant well. She knew that. And in truth, she hadn't even considered that it might trigger any lingering PTSD. It was no one's fault really.

There was already a small line forming from people who had left the fireworks show early. Claire was certain that within fifteen minutes, the place would be packed. Millie's didn't exaggerate in their slogan—they really did offer the best ice cream in Madison. This was the ice cream stand that had cured her of many post-breakup heartaches as a teenager and it would help cure her family's trauma now.

"The double-scoop cones are the best," she whispered to Gray as she herded him through the door.

"But all the sugar…" the boy had his stuffed raptor tucked under one arm and he looked hesitantly to his aunt.

"I think we can make an exception this time," she answered.

He smiled a genuine, full-faced smile and proceeded to order two scoops of birthday cake ice cream in a waffle cone and sat himself on the bench outside. Zach ordered a scoop of cookie dough and joined him. Owen and Claire resolved to share a cone as always. Rum raisin because it was the only flavor they could agree on—Owen was sold because of the rum, Claire because she could at least pretend that the raisins made it healthy.

The couple joined their nephews outside once they had paid. Gray laughed at something Zach said to him in private. The crowd was just starting to filter in. Across the street, fireflies flickered. The scent of smoke carried across the warm breeze.

"You okay, Red?" Owen asked gently, sidling up to her as she practically buried her face in the cone. She nodded. He used the pad of his thumb to wipe away a stray drop of ice cream. "I'm sorry," he murmured quietly. "I didn't mean…I didn't wanna…I didn't think it…"

"I know," she cut him off. "Thank you. For trying."

"Kinda backfired, didn't it?"

"Little bit," she laughed, handing the ice cream off to him. "But we'll be alright. Look, the boys are having a blast."

"D'you think they know?" he asked, remembering the conversation with Zach that morning. " 'Bout the fact you might get moved?"

Claire's heart skipped a beat and she started reaching for her phone once more. "Why do you say that?"

"Zach was asking me some questions this morning. Just seemed kinda worried your job wasn't going well."

"He's not wrong about that," she snorted, unlocking her phone.

"You're gonna tell 'em, aren't you?" Owen wasn't sure why he even needed to ask the question.

"Of course," the redhead answered. "Just as soon as I get a response about…" her voice trailed off when she saw a new message in her inbox. Her breath hitched.

* * *

 _From: Richard Wiesner  
To: Claire Dearing  
Date: July 3  
Subject: West Coast Relocation Proposition _

_Dear Claire,_

 _I apologize for the lateness of this email, but you will understand that your proposition required a lot of discussion amongst the board and myself. We have taken into consideration the recent purchase of your home in Wisconsin, your partner Owen Grady's employment at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and the personal mental health reasons you cited for remaining in the Midwest long-term. It is with great pleasure that I inform you that the board has accepted your proposed compromise of a temporary relocation owing to our prior arrangement and your loyalty to Masrani Global during this extraordinarily difficult time, as well as your willingness and the willingness of Mr. Grady to cooperate with the corporation._

 _At this time, I cannot guarantee how long your temporary relocation to San Diego will last, but your time on the West Coast will coincide with the preliminary litigation in the Jurassic World case. As of now, we do not anticipate these cases to last beyond mid-November and we expect that you will be free to return to Madison around that time. Please understand that this is not set in stone but we will make every effort to honor this estimate._

 _In the way of accommodations, Masrani Global will provide you a stipend to cover housing costs. Additionally, the company will provide transportation through our corporate partners. We hope you find this agreeable. I will be in touch via telephone at the start of business next week to discuss these details at length. I will also fax you a contract at that time. I recognize the sacrifices you and Mr. Grady are making on our behalf and I thank you for your service to Masrani Global during these trying times. It is our hope that with this compromise, you will be able to assist us further. Enjoy your Independence Day weekend, Claire._

 _Sincerely Yours,_

 _Rich Wiesner  
Chief Operations Officer and Acting CEO, Masrani Global_

* * *

Claire read the email again, unable to shake the smile from her face. Then a third time. And by the fourth, she couldn't even see the words through the blurry film of relieved, elated tears.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow! That was a lot longer than I intended it to be! But somehow I don't think you'll complain. Did you like it? I've been dragging out the whole compromise thing. Are you happy it worked out? How was the Zach and Owen interaction? Because I'm pretty proud of it. Next chapter will be the last. For now… (We'll see if another sequel manages to write itself out in my brain). How about a nice review to let me know what worked and what didn't? Thanks for reading!**


	6. Pyrrhic Victory

**A/N: Hey everyone! I apologize for how long this update took to push out. I meant to have it much sooner but I've been working through a lot of personal stuff for the last few weeks so it's been hard for me to really focus on my writing. I'm still going through a lot. I don't want to bore you all with details but it may be a little while before another story comes out by me. I'll do my best. I haven't forgotten about your prompts and I still firmly intend to finish them. I hope you'll enjoy the final chapter of this story, though! It's bittersweet, of course. Please let me know what you think in a review and/or PM. I love hearing your thoughts—they're always great pick-me-ups.**

* * *

It was strange to think today was their last day together. It was strange to think that it might be their last day together for a while. But when Claire awoke that morning, the realization dawned on her that this was very much the case, and she would have to make this final day with Zach and Gray special. Especially since she was going to have to break the news to them by the end of it.

Secretly, she had been hoping to wake up and find out she had dreamed the whole thing. That Masrani wasn't demanding to move her to San Diego. That she wouldn't have to tell her nephews that she wouldn't be around for a few months. It was the height of denial. She knew that. But she couldn't help it. As unrealistic as it was, she didn't want to have to tell them. She didn't know the words to tell them. She barely had the words to tell Owen, but he already knew what was happening, so she simply handed him her phone and let him read the email himself.

"We have to do something special. It's the Fourth of July," she told Owen as she sipped her coffee and scrolled through her tablet. She should have been looking at condos for rent but she couldn't bring herself to actually Google that dreaded phrase. She couldn't bring herself to think of anywhere else as home. "And the boys go back today," she added.

"We could have a little barbecue," Owen answered. "Call up Karen. Ask her to come, too. You can tell them the news at the same time."

She noticed he had left out any qualifiers about good or bad news. It was just news. "Okay," she nodded her head, setting the mug down on the counter with a _thunk_. "I'll call Karen."

"I called the department chair at Wisconsin-Madison this morning," Owen mentioned as he scrubbed his breakfast plate in the sink. "Said she'd be glad to transition my course online as a temporary solution."

Everything had fallen into place. Claire had gotten what she wanted. San Diego was a temporary solution, just as Owen teaching an online class was. She had successfully negotiated with Masrani. She had won. But it didn't make her feel any less empty inside.

* * *

After Claire got off the phone with her sister, she sat in the office and stared blankly at the wall in front of her desk, covered in post-it notes. Each color meant something different. Green for paperwork that still needed to be finished, blue for important phone numbers, orange for appointments and due dates, yellow for miscellaneous things. They would all have to come down soon, thrown into the trash or tucked into a binder for safekeeping until they arrived in California.

Her browser was open to a real estate listing site, addresses and photos of condos arranged in a list from cheapest to most expensive. Each link she clicked contained the typical marketing fluff—SPACIOUS! Or Exciting Amenities or You won't find better value anywhere in San Diego—along with dozens of interior shots arranged in a grid view. She scrolled through endless images of granite countertops and cherry wood cabinets and open floor plans until her eyes ached from staring at the backlit screen without blinking.

"Aunt Claire?"

The redhead jumped as Gray poked his head in the door. She quickly—guiltily—closed out of the browser and turned to face him. "What's up, sweetie?" she tried to sound upbeat.

The boy shrugged. "I heard you in here. Everything's okay, right?"

"Yes," she answered quickly, unable to meet her nephew's gaze. "Everything's fine, honey." The boy lingered in the doorway, hesitating. "I just need to go through a couple files and I'll be right down, okay?" That seemed to relieve him, if only a little, and Gray vanished from the door.

The redhead sighed, turned back to her computer, and was unable to bring herself to open up her web browser again to continue searching for a condo. She had already bookmarked a few. She could find one after the boys left.

The folders stacked around her desk had piled up, a fact she noted with an exasperated sigh. She would have to pack all of this up. Or at least file them away in a closet and take the important stuff with her. She opened her desk drawer and found it overflowing with manila folders. An overwhelming sense of exhaustion filled her when she thought about sorting through every file, trying to determine which ones she would need and which ones could stay the few months in an empty house. Before she could stop herself, she ripped every folder from the drawer, heaving them in an uneven stack on the floor until only dust lined the woodgrain drawer. There was an immense satisfaction in her handiwork, the feeling that she had accomplished something. Now she _had_ to sort through the paperwork. She knew herself well enough to know she wouldn't be able to leave the mess on the floor too long.

A hardcover book mixed among the beige file folders caught her eye. It was squat and wide, its cover lined with soft fabric with an inset containing a generic, black-and-white landscape. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized what it was.

Claire had never kept a scrapbook the way her mom and Karen did. They were kitschy and sentimental, annoying and clingy. Claire Dearing didn't do kitschy and sentimental. She could just as easily store all of her photographs on her computer, catalogue them on Facebook, or order prints she could frame on her desk—not that she ever did. But Karen had insisted she take the scrapbook their mother had curated so painstakingly over the years. The scrapbook that Karen had added to over the years since it had been in her possession. It had been offered to Claire along with the housewarming presents, an opportunity to catch up on the years she had missed since she'd been away from home. She had cracked it open once, a sinking, leaden feeling in her chest as first she and Karen, then Zach and Gray grew up over the course of a few dozen pages. She filed it away in the drawer immediately after, preferring to look to a bright future with her nephews instead of dwelling in all the ways she'd failed them before.

She picked the book up off the floor, ran her thumb over the pliant cloth on the cover. She should have inserted a family photo or something into the cover to replace the stock photo. Opening the book, she found herself staring at one of the only complete family portraits her family had taken in her childhood. She must have been about five or six, Karen around eleven or twelve. Her parents stood side-by-side. He had walked out about a year after the photo was taken. The rest of the first half of the book contained images of the Dearing sisters—Karen tugging Claire along on a sled in their backyard, Claire the day she took second at the state championship swim meet, Karen posing with the light blue Taurus that had been her first car, prom photos. There were photos full of awful 1980s hairstyles Claire couldn't believe she had ever worn and there were photos of Karen's college graduation, of Claire when she earned her MBA at U Chicago. And the rest were all Karen after that.

Karen's wedding pictures. Karen and Scott on a honeymoon. Karen and Scott's first Christmas card photo. And from then on it was all about Zach and Gray. Zach on the day he was born, looking pink and doll-like in his mother's arms with Scott leaning over the hospital bed and into the frame. Zach's first birthday party—Claire made a cameo in the background. She had been in town that weekend. Zach on his first day of preschool, sporting a bowl cut and Winnie the Pooh overalls that made the aunt cringe for him. Then there were the pictures of Gray—plump and curly-haired, swaddled in a receiving blanket in the hospital. Gray's first bath, a towel strategically placed to keep him modest. Zach holding his wailing baby brother in what was supposed to be a well-staged brotherly picture. They continued this way—first day of school photos, birthday parties, middle school semi-formals and fourth grade graduations and family picnics and family ski trips. Zach grew taller with each photo and Gray caught up. She'd seen the photos once already but the thought of having to catch up again when she returned—even if it was only a few months—was enough to sink her mood. Claire shut the book quickly, the by-now familiar pressure of tears building behind her eyeballs beginning to well up. She decided the scrapbook was the start of the "take-to-San-Diego" pile.

But even with the challenges of packing, the difficulties of deciding what to take and what to leave, Claire knew the hardest part of this move, of this upheaval, was still to come. She had yet to break the news to her family. She had yet to tell Zach and Gray. She had yet to tell Karen, who was only just beginning to get used to the idea that her sister was only twenty minutes away. And she had no idea how to say it to them, how to break the collective heart of her entire family in a few short sentences the way she used to break the collective heart of entire corporate departments when she canceled their projects in development or terminated the assignment they'd been working on for months.

 _I have something to tell you, boys. And it's not easy to say…And I want you to know that I'm always here for you and that I tried my best to avoid this. But…But…But_

The lines she had so carefully tried to rehearse in her head, to herself as she stared at the stacks of scattered papers and files, remained unfinished and incomplete. She couldn't say it. She couldn't think it.

* * *

Zach leaned against the base of a tree and watched Owen scrape down the grill with a brush, a half-used bag of Kingsford charcoal leaning against the siding of the house at his feet. The man replaced the grate and began piling dusty gray briquettes into a chimney starter. Gray looked up from the ground where he had been lying on his stomach, observing two ladybugs. Noticing his brother pensively observing their uncle, he rose to his feet and sat down beside him.

"What's wrong?" the younger Mitchell asked.

"Nothing," Zach murmured, his eyes fixed on a small patch of discoloration on the house's siding.

"Why do you look sad?"

"Just thinking."

"I read the news," the boy confessed. Zach started. "I know Aunt Claire said I should forget about it and I know you said it wasn't a big deal so I should ignore it but I just couldn't."

"Gray…"

"I saw it online and I saw the newspaper in the recycling."

"Gray…"

"Aunt Claire's gonna lose her job, isn't she? Do you think they'll throw her in jail? It's not her fault! They know it's not her fault, right? 'Cause people keep saying things about her online and the lawyers keep trying to make the whole thing look like her fault but it isn't!"

"Gray, will you _shut up_?" Zach snapped. The boy silenced immediately and the older brother winced at the twinge of doubt, of hurt on his face. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean shut up. I just meant don't worry."

"How can I not?" the younger brother questioned, hurling a clump of mulch into the grass a few feet away. "They put her picture in everything. They even talked about us, Zach. And it just looks really bad. Everyone's angry at her. They're gonna fire her," he sniffled. "And then she won't be able to afford this house anymore and she won't be able to get another job 'cause of what happened at Jurassic World and then they'll have to move away and we'll never see them again."

Zach put a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "Listen. Aunt Claire's the toughest person we know, right?" He waited for Gray to nod in agreement. "And you know it's not her fault, right?" He paused for his younger brother to nod again. "She's gonna be fine. If they wanted to fire her, they would've done it already." He hoped the boy didn't pick up on the tremor in his voice that indicated his own uncertainty.

Gray sniffled again. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Zach lied.

"Aunt Claire's been acting weird," the younger Mitchell pointed out.

The older brother sighed. "Look, she's got a lot of pressure on her. If she doesn't say something soon, we'll go talk to her, okay?"

"Okay. But it has to be today," Gray answered. "It's our last day here."

Zach didn't like how his brother felt it necessary to add that last piece.

* * *

Karen's minivan pulled up at four and Claire felt her heart jump into her throat. She had been putting off telling the boys until their mother arrived, justifying that decision with the thought that it would be easier to tell everyone all at once. But she was actually terrified. Terrified of Gray's tears and Zach's reproach and Karen's breakdown. Terrified that her family would think she was flaking on them again. Terrified of becoming an island.

Owen poked his head into the office where Claire had been hiding out in between helping him prep for the barbecue or indulging her nephews in a game of fetch with the dog. "Your sister's here," he announced. His features softened when he noticed her look of terror.

"I know," she cleared her throat and composed herself. "I'll be right down." Owen nodded and ducked out of the room.

"Karen!" Claire did her best to sound cheerful as she descended the stairs, makeup touched up and hair brushed so she wouldn't look as frantic as she felt.

"Claire," her sister hugged her. "How were the boys? Not too much trouble, I hope."

"They were great," she answered honestly. "How was your week?"

"Quiet," Karen replied. "I can't believe I'm saying this but I missed having them in the house. It just feels so…empty without them."

Claire knew the feeling. After Zach and Gray left last time, the house had felt empty for a week. "Owen's working on the grill right now. I can make coffee," she suggested, starting for the kitchen without waiting for Karen's response.

"So what did you do all week?" Karen questioned, stirring her coffee and leaning against the island. Claire set her mug down on the other side, facing her older sister.

"Owen took the boys windsurfing," she replied. "We went hiking. Camped in the yard. Scott came to visit the boys one evening."

"How was that?" the mother seemed a little surprised.

"Better than I expected it to be, if I'm being honest."

There was a lull in the conversation, a slight one. Ordinarily, Claire wouldn't have felt the need to fill the space with anything. But it came out anyway. "Karen, I have to tell you something…"

Once she got started, she couldn't stop.

"…I tried. I really tried to prevent it but the most they were willing to offer was a temporary relocation. Owen and I are going to be in California by the end of the month until at least November. Maybe longer. I just don't know what to do, Kare." Another tear splashed into her coffee mug. She was certain the coffee was too diluted with salt water to even be drinkable anymore but she didn't care. Karen had long since come around the counter to rest a reassuring arm on her sister's shoulder, rubbing soothingly as if the woman was a child again. "I haven't told the boys yet. They'll be crushed. I don't know how to say it."

"Just tell them like you told me," Karen answered. "They'll understand, Claire. It's not your fault. You'll be back. They know you'll be back." The older sister paused. "Is there anything we can do for you?"

Claire stopped, sniffled, and locked eyes with her older sister. "There is one thing…"

* * *

"Pit Master Owen presents…dinner," Owen set down the aluminum tray of burgers in the center of the patio table. "Eat up! Everybody says Tennessee and Texas have the best barbecue in the country but I think Georgia'll give 'em a run for their money."

Karen smiled graciously but said little throughout dinner. Claire kept clearing her throat and offering small talk—observations about how Karen had gotten her hair done while the boys were away, how Gray seemed to particularly enjoy the burgers, or how much fun they'd had over the course of the week. Zach smiled weakly with each comment and shot concerned glances at his younger brother across the table, looks that Owen caught and winced at. _Claire hasn't told them yet_.

As dinner drew to a close, Claire was still trying to summon the courage to break the news to her nephews. Zach cleared his throat and found four pairs of eyes fixed on him. He ducked his head shyly. "Aunt Claire?" he offered.

The redhead gulped. She felt like a child about to be reprimanded. "Yes, Zach?"

"Gray and I…well, we have some…concerns," the teen managed to get out with some amount of difficulty. "About you. And about the while court thing that's going on and, well…"

"Are you they gonna fire you?" Gray blurted. His older brother gaped at him. "They're gonna fire you, aren't they? That's why you've been sad all week. It's not fair! It wasn't your fault!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Owen soothed as the boy's voice reached a fever pitch. "Nobody said anything about your aunt getting fired. But I believe she _does_ have something she needs to tell you," he cast a meaningful glance to his partner, who wilted a little.

"I'm not getting fired," the woman began. "But there are going to be some changes. For starters, they are temporarily moving me…to San Diego."

"What?!" Zach cried out and Claire's stomach dropped. All the weight that had been lifted off her chest with the confession came crashing down upon her once more. She looked from Zach's expression of hurt-confusion-anger to Gray's, watery and devastated. "Why didn't you tell us?" the older of the two accused. Gray let out a sob.

"Zach," Karen's voice had a warning tone to it, but Claire held up a hand.

The redhead let out a puff of breath. "It's okay, Kare. They have a right to be mad. But the reason I didn't tell you both was because I was working out an agreement with Masrani Global. They initially wanted to relocate me permanently, but I insisted that the move be temporary. I didn't want to tell you until they agreed, which they did. I just found out yesterday."

She studied the teenager's face closely as the anger and tension melted from his features, leaving behind disappointment and resignation.

"Look, I know that this whole situation _sucks_ ," the aunt continued. She could feel her voice beginning to break, the familiar tightness of stifled sobs building in her throat and the pressure of unshed tears pressing at the backs of her eyes. "And it's not at all what we wanted, but if all goes well we should be back before the end of the year."

"What if they decide they want you to stay full time after all?" Gray had stopped crying but sniffled occasionally and he looked no less miserable than before.

"I'll quit," the redhead answered with resolution. "I have an agreement with the company. If they decide not to honor it, I'll leave."

Karen leaned over and said in a low voice, "Don't promise that if you aren't sure you can deliver."

"I _will_ deliver," Claire replied loudly, stubbornly. "I mean it. They're taking me away from my family for a few months, taking _us_ away from _our_ family for a few months. I already can't stand the thought of it. If they want to make that arrangement permanent, I'm leaving."

"What about Uncle Owen? What are you gonna do?" Zach pointed out. "Aren't you supposed to be starting at Wisconsin-Madison?"

"That's right," Owen replied. "But I already talked with the department chair and she said she's fine with making my classes online. We should be back in time for spring semester. And in the meantime, a publishing house in Chula Vista offered me a book deal. I'll keep busy, don't you worry."

"This is really happening, isn't it?" the teen sighed.

"I'm afraid so," Claire replied.

"You'll come back, though, right?" Gray asked. "For Thanksgiving and Christmas if you're still there?"

"They won't keep us away," she answered reassuringly.

"We'll miss you." It was a confession both Claire and Owen had expected from Gray, but to hear it from Zach's lips surprised them.

"We'll miss you, too. All of you," Owen glanced at the faces around the table meaningfully.

"But we can Skype and Facetime," Claire offered. "And before you know it, we'll be right back in this house. Which reminds me," she looked to Karen, who tried to conceal a smirk. "Since we're moving halfway across the country, we're going to need a little help taking care of the things we leave behind. So I talked to your mother and she said she's okay with Blue coming to live with you guys while we're gone." Gray's eyes lit up. "She especially loves you, Gray, so do you think you could take care of her for us?"

"Yes!" Gray nodded his head vigorously, eliciting smiles from around the table.

"We knew we could count on you."

* * *

The family lingered around the driveway, forcing conversation to hold on just a little longer. But as the sky got darker, Karen realized she would have to get the boys home soon. Gray's hugs were tight and unrelenting, and the boy held on to his aunt for much longer than usual, eventually leaving her embrace for that of his uncle's. Zach wordlessly squeezed Claire tightly, willing himself not to tear up. The redhead could feel herself choking up as she hugged her oldest nephew and glanced over at Owen, kneeling to Gray's height and handing over Blue's leash, giving him instructions on how to care for her. When he finished, he stood and pulled Zach into a hug as well.

"Good luck in California," Karen approached. Claire could see tears welling in her older sister's eyes and felt the familiar guilt building up within her. She was abandoning her family again.

"You better come visit us once we get out there."

"I'm sure the boys would love that."

"You, too," Claire insisted. "You could use a vacation."

Karen forced a watery laugh, then nodded her head. "Alright. Yeah, we'll come visit you. If you aren't back before we get a chance."

"I mean it," the redhead tried her best to assume an admonishing tone. "I'm expecting you."

Karen pulled her sister into an embrace and held her there for a long moment. "We'll miss you. _I'll_ miss you. Please, Claire, don't drop off the face of the earth again. _Please_."

"I won't," the younger sister promised. "I forgot how important family is. But I'm not going to forget again."

"Then we'll see you at the airport. And again in California. And again when you come home."

* * *

Owen's hand rested at Claire's hip as the couple watched the minivan back out of the gravel drive and disappear down the dark, wooded street. They stood waving until the taillights retreated out of view.

* * *

 **A/N: And that concludes this story. Thank you all for the support you've given me and for all the reads, reviews, favorites, and follows. You are all wonderful, beautiful human beings :D I make no promises about a sequel, but as you can see I've left the door open for one. Once my personal life is a little less messy, I'll be back to writing. I have unfilled prompts to address and the possibility of a sequel isn't out of the question… Until then, thank you again and I hope to hear your thoughts on how this story was as a whole.**


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